


third time's the charm

by PolzkaDotz



Series: born under a bad sign [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Accidents with Potions, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Aurors, Cats, Confessions, Cooking, Fake Enemies to Spouses, Forced Proximity, Hit Wizards, Honesty, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Potions, Punching, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, duels, fake rivalry, forced bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolzkaDotz/pseuds/PolzkaDotz
Summary: The day Neil got tied up to Andrew Minyard in the most unfortunate way possible was supposed to be just anothernormal dayin the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At least, as much as it was possible for a day to be normal when Hit Wizards and Aurors were forced to work together on a mission.Neil usually had good instincts from when something bad was about to happen to him, but magicallymarryingthe other Oh So Hated man in the DMLE wasmaybeout of the scope of his abilities, and that was fine. Maybe?Sure didn’t change the fact that Bond boxes were evil and now Neil would not be able to be farther than five meters from Minyard and… what is the other punishment???? Beinghonest?!?!About what they feel and think for the other?!?!
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: born under a bad sign [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134128
Comments: 104
Kudos: 307





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyverning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/gifts).



> Thank you so much for clicking on this! 
> 
> Wonderful [Kay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ihaveacleverfandomurl) read parts of this and they were, “I laugh at Hit Wizards every time because of the capitalization” to which I was like, “It’s not my fault, Jaqueline Karen Rolling in the dirt wrote it like that”, so just in case you’re like my wonderful daddy:  
>    
>  Hit Wizards: kinda like SWAT  
>  Aurors: kinda like detectives, FBI agents and police officers????? for the purpose of this fic tho, don’t quote me on that lmao 
> 
> Anyway, hope you cats enjoy this! It would not even exist without the wonderful [Syd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning), to whom I owe so much and therefore I dedicate this madness to. Love you, sweetheart 🥺 
> 
> Another warning: don’t look too hard at the plot/timeline. It can and will crumble under pressure. 
> 
> Also: fuck jaqueline karen rolling in the dirt :3

It happened when they were almost near the end of their raid. Neil was concentrating on his spell work, aiming them carefully. One wrong move and he would cause a minor accident in the giant, cluttered basement of some pureblood’s mansion. 

Neil rarely minded a bit of private property damage, especially if it was a pureblood’s private property—what could Neil say, he was a class traitor—but, sometimes, he had to pretend a little harder to be a good little Hit Wizard, especially when people could get hurt. 

Neil was trying not to destroy anything because he didn’t remember to whom this mansion and this messy hoard of clutter belonged to. The debrief had probably included information about the owner, but Neil never paid attention to that part. He had left the pureblood circles a long time ago, going as far as to change his own name so he wouldn’t be associated with it at all. It was a fine way to live and he was happy. Neil had no interest in going back to the amount of info necessary to live in that world, especially if the info wasn’t relevant to his job. 

Granted, it was worth mentioning that it was an uncommon mission. Mostly because a tiny team like theirs was rarely sent on their own to cover a bloody mansion. At least not under Wymack’s supervision, but this mission had been organized by the Aurors. Neil thought Dobson was alright, but after this mission… He didn’t think less of her. Neil just sort of wished someone had looked twice at the information brought by whatever idiot that had been the contact for this case. 

From what he remembered of the debriefing—when he was still paying attention to it, in the beginning—they were expecting to find this place empty. 

That was not the case. Not only because whoever had given the layout of the basement failed to say that the “corridors” were piles of crap, eight meters high or more, and also that the place actively reeked of dark energy, which meant there were some dark wizards there as well. 

Not that Neil complained about crossing paths with dark wizards. As a rule, Neil loved to duel and, in missions like this where Aurors and Hit Wizards were forced to work together, Neil partnered with the famous Andrew Minyard—which warranted no complaints from Neil, since he thought Minyard was an amazing partner to have in a duel. Not only because he never flinched at Neil, but because he was talented enough to balance the particular level of chaos that Neil employed in his battles. 

Minyard had a poor reputation, but so did Neil. There was a not-so-vocal but existing minority in the DMLE that hated Minyard because “of how he got away with murder” and wanted him either rotting in a cell in Azkaban or in a permanent bed at St. Mungo—some went as far as whispering he should be Kissed. The shit that Minyard had to go through always seemed excessive for Neil, the person who had actually lived with a murderous psychopath. Minyard didn’t seem affected by it at all though—or anything in life, to be precise. 

Neil still gave those kinds of people both fingers when they looked their way. As a principle, as well as to be a nuisance. 

As was always the norm, Minyard hadn’t looked at Neil or talked to him before they were both sent first inside the mansion as a team. Alone. 

It wasn’t the usual protocol. It was actually _against_ the protocol, but it happened often enough that it wasn’t surprising. Neil never once thought of reporting it to Wymack because of course some people would send both of them, the most hated men in the DMLE, to scout a place that was “supposed to be empty”. 

If he thought about it a little, it wouldn’t surprise Neil if it became proven that some missions where Neil was paired with Minyard were a plot to get them killed or seriously maimed. That was the sort of thing some of these brainless Aurors were capable of. 

Neil couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was dangerous, sure, but being the target was great to further his duel experience. The best opportunities for getting into the craziest duels, honestly. 

Arguably, it made it clear how good of a Hit Wizard he was. And, with Minyard there, Neil didn’t have to worry about getting a curse from his partner, ever. Minyard had never cared enough about Neil to kill him and he had plenty of motives to do it, taking into consideration how much of a little shit Neil had been towards him in the Quidditch field. 

On this mission, Neil and Minyard had gone in believing they would fight against at least six wizards at best, but probably around three—the number of guards that usually patrolled the place. They had 6 Aurors and 8 Hit Wizards outside, so their numbers were good if the fighting ground was cleaner. 

As it was, the absolute cluster of dark objects waiting to activate in that basement made things a little hard. Neil doubted all of them were actually cursed, but he couldn’t possibly know how to effectively tell which ones were dangerous and which ones were just… another one in the multitude. The whole precarious situation was too dangerous for only fourteen wizards. 

Minyard had taken one look at the scene and promptly sent a Patronus outside to inform them that someone should contact the Ministry and request for more reinforcements—or for Mediwizards for safe transporting. Things would get ugly quickly enough. 

They didn’t have to wait long—either for the reinforcements or for things to take a turn for the worse. At least they had all the entrances of the mansion under watch, they had enough teams ready to get in as well, and the Anti-Apparition ward over the entire mansion. After they advanced, it would come to their fighting abilities and luck. 

Minyard pointed to a corridor that looked suspicious—in that way that had to do mainly with intuition—and started walking in, leaving Neil with no choice but to follow him. The next team would follow in a few minutes, but Neil knew they wouldn’t even look at the place where Neil and Minyard were. They would be on their own, relying on each other. 

Neil’s blood was boiling from anticipation. After all, it was the perfect environment for Neil to practice what he liked best: besting people in a duel, using the dirtiest spells he could think of. 

The entire mission was probably over in ten minutes after they called for reinforcements. Neil and Minyard had found their first dark wizard after wandering around the suspicious corridor only six minutes after getting in it. 

They didn’t even look at each other before throwing the same curse at the dark wizard who shielded it. And then it was a chase. The dark wizard’s foot peaked over the corner when Neil and Minyard turned, but it wasn’t because he was fast; he just had the head start. 

Neil was quick though, much quicker than many people expected a pureblood to be and he could catch up. Andrew wasn’t so fast, but then neither of them ended up needing to run that much longer. When they turned into the next corridor, the dark wizard was there, a blur of robes as he waved his wand. 

Neil didn’t think before putting up a shield that ricocheted the spell back to the dark wizard. Neil’s shield went down as he fired a Bat-Bogey Hex, the first spell that came to his mind. The dark wizard dodged out of sight, and Neil kept his wand pointed to where he’d last seen him. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Minyard murmured, probably not meant for Neil’s ears given the volume, but Neil’s hearing was clearly better than that. 

“What?” Neil asked him, turning to raise an eyebrow. His eyes focused on watching the micro-expressions on Minyard’s face, but even after years Neil could only guess that it was exasperation mixed with disgust. Neil wanted to shrug innocently because he knew that Minyard thought his habit of playing with his opponents at the beginning of duels was despicable, but he couldn’t stop the grin from coming to his face. “Too good for a good Bat-Bo—” 

Neil’s inattention and need to antagonize everybody was his downfall. 

Another Hex came their way—too wild and poorly aimed to get near them, but it made a book catch on fire near Neil’s head. Trauma reared its ugly head and just a tiny flame on a book was enough to make Neil flinch hard, taking two steps back from the flames as he automatically conjured water, heart racing, and free hand trembling into a fist. 

Minyard didn’t bother to put a shield up for himself. He instinctively fired a Hex at wherever the dark wizard had appeared, and the yelp they heard was enough to make Minyard advance to follow its source. 

Which was a good thing? Since the space he put between them meant that only Neil got buried as his flinch made his back hit one of the nearby piles. The instant his back made contact, Neil knew it was going down. 

Well. At least there was no more fire. 

Minyard’s startled curse was full of feeling, just as Neil’s pained groan was. Neil knew Minyard wasn’t worried about Neil’s pain, though; if Neil was dead, Minyard would have to write their mission report instead of relying on Neil to do it and he would have to fill in the forms for Work-related Injuries. 

“Josten?” Minyard said. His voice sounded tiny and far away to Neil’s stunned brain. “Josten?” 

“I’m fine, go after him!” Neil didn’t hear any sounds of steps getting away, so he growled. “I can levitate stuff out of my way, now go!” 

After a few milliseconds of almost audible hesitation, Minyard went away running. Neil let out a breath as he let himself rest under the pile of stuff, cradling his empty wand-hand. Neil’s wrist hurt badly enough for him to think he’d probably broken it. Neil tried to concentrate to levitate stuff out of his way wandlessly, but he had never been able to do that at all, to his father’s utter disappointment and anger. It had been something Neil had once been proud of, that tiny rebellion against being weak in something that his father could do nothing about but punish him (which he already did, often) but at that moment? Neil was definitely not happy about it. 

With nothing to do, Neil sighed and resigned himself to waiting. Still, it was hard not to berate himself for flinching from a stupid, inconsequential small fire, regardless of his childhood trauma. Even worse, his stupid flinch meant he couldn’t be out there, running and fighting, or annoying Aurors. Three of his most glee-inducing activities. 

Instead, there Neil was. Buried under a lot of shit, wandless, hurt and angry at himself. 

It didn’t take long for him to hear footsteps coming back to where he was, though they were much calmer than before. Neil stayed still, listening and waiting, just in case it was an enemy. 

“Josten?” 

Neil felt relief at hearing Minyard’s voice. “Yes, I’m listening.” 

“I see you didn’t dig yourself out.” 

“It feels cosy in here.” 

“Are you hurt?” 

Neil sighed at Minyard’s “No Bullshitting Me” tone. Neil had a habit of downplaying his injuries whenever he was on a mission with Aurors. Well… If asked to give an honest answer, Neil would probably have to delete the “with Aurors” part, but whatever. What mattered was that Minyard knew what Neil was like—and Neil also knew what Minyard was like if he tried to lie. 

“Perhaps...” Neil paused to let out a sigh. “I may have broken my wand-hand wrist.” 

Minyard silently levitated stuff out of Neil’s path. Neil wanted to ask what happened during the fight, but he didn’t. He was fully capable of reading the reports later, and it wasn’t like Andrew Minyard was in the business of answering questions or talking much unless completely necessary. Also, Minyard would probably be angry when he realized that, since Neil couldn’t write, he would have to write the reports after. 

It would be wise for Neil to just shut up. 

When the last box floated away, Neil held his breath and tried to stand. At the first step that he gave, his ankle twisted horribly because he was an idiot who didn’t check where he was stepping. Neil started to fall sideways but Minyard was closer than Neil expected and extended a hand to catch him. 

However, it wasn’t enough. 

The grip on Neil’s arm was awkward and a little reluctant, so Neil couldn’t use it to balance himself at all. The only thing he could do was to grab the hand that slid from his forearm to his palm, pulling Minyard down with him. 

Minyard was smart though and just bent forward. Neil’s twisted ankle didn’t pity Neil at all and threw him down without mercy. Neil gasped as his ribs smashed against something firm, and he knew he had probably broken something. _Another_ something. 

Neil groaned breathlessly, clutching at his ribs. Minyard watched Neil’s hands for a few seconds, but when no blood became visible, he relaxed and extended his hand as an offer. 

Neil grabbed it after taking a moment to breathe deeply. Apparently, though, Neil was, apparently, determined to show how much of an imbecile he was, because his great idea was to use his hand that probably had a broken wrist to aid him in getting up. 

A painful zing travelled from his hand up his arm to properly inform him of his stupidity. Neil cried out and immediately retracted his hand from the ground. However, the zing had already travelled through him and straight to Minyard’s hand, which… was not a good thing. Pain wasn’t supposed to do that. 

When he finally realized that meant it probably wasn’t pain, Neil had enough time to look down at what he’d touched—a carved wooden box that looked so plain it was almost forgettable—and then Minyard was hissing like a threatened snake. 

When it had walked through both of them, who were still clutching at each other’s hand, hard, the zing fastened them tighter together. Neil felt his breath freeze over on his chest, over-focusing on his hand and the horribleness that seemed to take control of his muscles, ordering them to tighten as well. 

It was one of the most painful sensations Neil had ever experienced. So he passed out, feeling grateful he was already lying down. Unfortunately for him, Minyard wasn’t, but Neil could only feel the heavyweight of a body falling on top of him, no time to register the pain it probably caused because he was already being pulled in by darkness. 

* * *

They hadn’t figured out what had happened to them right as they arrived at St. Mungo. 

That wasn’t _surprising_ since they weren’t conscious as they received the first assessment for triage right there in the lobby. There was nothing to make it obvious when they were passed out. 

At the same time, would it have been good? If the whole fucking hospital knew what had happened, without them having any input? 

Difficult to say. 

Neil was a Hit Wizard who got hurt, technically, so a trip to St. Mungo basically meant a stay at his permanent room. It was the standard treatment for Hit Wizards, and it would never stop being funny to Neil’s friends that his private room at a hospital had more of his belongings than Neil’s room at his actual flat. 

Neil never pointed it out to them that, technically, he spent as much time in his hospital room as he did in his flat. That would only end up in a gratuitous sermon to him. What mattered though was that when Neil _finally_ opened his eyes and looked up, he wasn’t disoriented even though his head felt positively cloudy. That ceiling was familiar to him. 

Less familiar was the _second bed_ shoved close to his. There was enough space for a person to walk between them and that was it. Since it was _his_ personal bedroom, Neil didn't know why Minyard was in that bed, glaring at Neil. 

“ _I fucking hate you_ ,” Minyard hissed when he noticed that Neil was awake. Neil tried to frown, but he was still coming to terms with reality, so he just watched as Minyard used his wand to alert the Healers that Neil was awake. 

All the flurry of movements as the Trainee Healers checked Neil over only made him more disoriented and confused. It was good news that Neil was being seen by Trainee Healers and not by a straight up Healer—or even worse, _Head_ Healer, which had happened in the past. If the Trainees were responsible to monitor his condition, he probably wasn’t _that_ terribly hurt, but still… 

Neil couldn't stop the confusion about Minyard, his gratuitous hate and presence in his room. It felt _odd_ to have another patient there, but no _odder_ than the squirrelly looks the Trainees were exchanging. 

Silently, because Minyard kept glaring at them as well. 

Even though he had been, frankly, _rude_ to Neil—something unusual when compared to the indifference Neil got from him—Neil wouldn’t kick Minyard from his room. If Minyard was hurt, it probably had to do with whatever had happened to them before Neil lost his consciousness. 

Neil could curb his curiosity while overlooking Minyard’s manners. Aurors didn’t have private designated rooms like Hit Wizards, so maybe all the rooms in the common ward were unavailable? Sure, Minyard looked _unhurt_ and just annoyed beyond belief, but who knows. He could have internal injuries. 

For a second he entertained the thought of asking the Trainee Healers, but they almost never _knew_ things, especially when it involved Hit Wizards. It didn’t help that they were looking mildly confused at one another as they read the aura of _hatred_ that was permeating the room, making it that much clearer that they knew nothing. 

Soon enough his check-up was over and the group of Healers seemed to falter at the daggers that Andrew was currently throwing at Neil’s prone form. 

Before Neil could even think about opening his mouth, the door opened and Healer Winfield came through the door, saying, “You can all go back to your stations, thank you.” Unfortunately for Neil, a _Healer_ was a little more serious than a Mediwizard, but at least Neil _probably_ wasn’t dying. 

The Trainees almost ran out of the room because Healer Winfield _immediately_ pinned Minyard with a hard look as soon as she’d stopped talking to them, and Neil couldn’t understand _why_ they would be afraid of _Abby Winfield_. 

“Behave,” was what Healer Winfield told Minyard, who scoffed but looked away. 

Healer Winfield looked at Minyard for a little longer before sighing and starting to check Neil’s vitals. Impatient, Neil didn’t wait until Healer Winfield had finished. “What happened? I don’t feel like death enough to be seeing _you_ instead of just the standard Mediwizard for field injuries.” 

“Yes, you don’t have a lot of injuries… _anymore._ You came in with a broken wrist, a twisted ankle and two broken ribs, all already healed,” Healer Winfield nodded at Minyard and crossed her arms, as if she was steeling herself. “You also touched a Bond box while you were down and accidentally bound yourself to Minyard.” 

Neil’s brain _stopped_ working, which probably correlated with why his mouth fell open. Healer Winfield gave him a few seconds, waiting in case he had something to say but, after a few moments of silence—and one look at Minyard—she told him about how Minyard had tried to go home after he woke up in the St. Mungo’s lobby from what had knocked them both down, and then he just… 

Healer Winfield hesitated. 

“Had hallucinations,” Minyard offered in an icy voice. 

“Had _visions_ ,” Healer Winfield said after a few seconds. “That were distressing enough to make him pull his wand and…” 

Neil didn’t need her to elaborate. He had seen Minyard fighting. If he had been in enough _distress_... 

“The visions went away as soon as he stepped closer to you,” Healer Winfield concluded after a moment of tense silence. “Five meters is the range you can stand apart from each other.” 

She gave Neil a few seconds to add anything, but Neil wasn’t back at controlling his brain yet, so she then told him that two Aurors were currently at the basement of the Mansion, looking for a box that matched Minyard’s description. Since Neil was awake and not injured anymore, they were free to go as soon as she told him how he should behave since he was Bonded. 

“That’s not necessary,” Neil said with a sigh. 

He was familiar with Bond boxes. Neil was, after all, a pureblood by nature _and_ nurture, and had grown up with one of them in his father’s own mansion. His mother had always stared at the box with thinly veiled disgust, and never bothered to explain what it had done to her and his father, but Neil knew the stories and he knew _them_. It couldn’t have been pleasant. 

Neil had a moment of thinking about his mother before he came back to focus on the problem at hand, because what mattered was that Neil knew what Bond boxes were for: newly-weds, especially from arranged marriages, _exclusively_ purebloods, used them to make the arrangement go as smoothly as possible—meaning, nobody would die until the dowry had shifted hands and _remained_ alive long enough for _at least_ one heir to be born. 

Neil had seen too many pureblood girls talking about Bond boxes with reverence, as if they were something romantic. Like taking away your freedom of being resentful towards something you didn’t choose for yourself was romantic. Like being punished for wanting control to your own life was romantic. 

Most Bond boxes had the perfect size to fit two wands. The logic was that then there would be no risk of “accidentally” killing your spouse in a fight if your wand was inaccessible, but that particular feature had become symbolic with time. 

Then, Bond boxes _themselves_ became more and more symbolic, but even in modern times two features were never abolished: Bond boxes always had something that punished the newly-weds in some form if they went too far away from one another, and also something that was supposed to make them _like_ each other, even minimally. 

They had already found one of those items. So when it looked like Healer Winfield would _still_ try to explain Bond boxes to Neil, he stopped her with a lazy movement of his not-injured-anymore hand. 

“My parents had a Bond box. I know the steps to this dance. I assume the Aurors will take the box to the Unspeakables for examination? So we can learn what the punishment is?” 

“Are you telling me the fucking distance _isn’t_ the punishment?” Minyard’s voice made Healer Winfield close her mouth on whatever answer she almost gave with an audible _click_. 

“Well, all Bond boxes have a range of distance ingrained in them and a punishment for violating that, but the boxes exist to bond people _for a reason_ ,” Neil explained and watched as Minyard’s looked more _alive_ than he’d ever seen since he had stopped taking the Mood Suppressant potion that the Wizengamot had forced on him on his Seventh Year. “It probably will have some kind of feature to try to make us… get along, or something of the sort.” 

“Oh, this is fucking rich.” Minyard jumped off the bed and started to pace in the path between their beds. Neil couldn’t help but notice how _careful_ he was with the distance between them. “This is all your _fucking fault_.” 

Neil kind of wanted to sneer and tell him, just as a gut reaction, that _Nobody forced Andrew to offer a hand to help him stand up,_ but that was an arsehole move; on top of it, it would be a weak defence. Technically speaking, it _was_ Neil’s fault. It hadn’t been his _intention_ to bind them together, but it did happen because he didn’t pay attention to what he was doing—and also paid _too much_ attention to a certain burning book. 

Now, they would have to wait and see what it would do to try to get them closer to each other. Just thinking about the punishments he _knew_ could affect them was enough to make Neil remember once again how much he _despised_ the concept of the Bond boxes as a teenager. 

He could _sympathize_ with how angry Minyard was. Truly, he could. Still, he thought it was a little _juvenile_ to be given that much of a cold shoulder, _especially_ after Neil learned that his supervisor had decided Neil would "take" some time off while he lived with Minyard for however long it took for the Bond to break. 

As soon as Healer Winfield told Neil that, he wanted to protest—well. More closely to _rage_ , but it was all the same thing. 

It was unfair. Neil had his own flat, although it was small and with minimalistic furniture—which was a nice way to say that he had a bed, food in the pantry, and a couch in his living room. And the stuff he had bought for the cats, of course. 

Neil had a _life_ , friends, had his _fucking job_ to keep him sane and not too idle in the mind, which was something that Neil abhorred vehemently. For the foreseeable future though, Neil’s job would be to _shadow Minyard_ at his own Auror’s work. 

All because Neil had flinched from a fire spell. 

It didn’t take long for Neil to grow as resentful as Minyard about the whole situation. However, the more he thought about it, the easier it got to understand why _Neil_ would be the one to move away. Neil was a Hit Wizard, always going straight into danger to duel against dark wizards. Hit Wizards were the first line of offence and defence, Aurors were the investigators. Forcing Andrew to go out in raids would be _too_ dangerous, because what if they were _accidentally_ separated? Or even worse, _forcefully_ separated? Out of the two of them, Neil’s profession was the one that couldn’t really be done from a desk, so it made sense that he would have to frequent _Minyard’s_ job. 

Still, receiving the letter from Healer Winfield’s hand in Wymack’s handwriting was a punch on his stomach and an automatic symphony of panic in his mind. 

If Neil wasn’t in the field, fighting… what was he going to do with himself? 

After Neil's discharge, Minyard practically ran outside the room. Neil didn’t bother to rush after him, because he knew that Minyard was keeping close tabs on how distant he was from Neil. Whatever he had seen, it had been enough of a deterrent to keep him within five meters of Neil’s body. 

So off they went, walking towards Neil’s flat, because Healer Winfield hadn’t _known_ what the Floo would do to the Bond, or even Apparating, because the knowledge about Bond boxes were particular to the family that had the bloody thing. Neil couldn’t possibly know either. It didn’t help that the point of Bounding people together after marriage was… well. Neil wasn’t crass enough to _say_ it—and he quickly squashed the _imagery_ that wanted to bloom in his head—but what mattered was: there would be no way of knowing _who_ had carved and spelled the box. 

At least the weather was pleasant for a walk—much nicer than the weather had any fucking right to be. London was perpetually rainy, and it should've been so _especially_ at that moment, to match Neil’s foul mood. 

Much like his feelings towards the weather, Neil had to resign himself to the fact that he would have to find a way to _not be_ bothered by having to live with Minyard. As he thought about it, Neil became better at seeing that it probably wouldn’t be as bad as his brain had made it out to be in the beginning. It wasn’t _ideal_ , far from it, but it could be worse. 

Yes, Neil would have to keep a tight check on how antsy he got, but… Neil thought about all the Aurors he could’ve been bonded to, and Minyard was _definitely_ not the worst. At least Minyard knew how antagonistic Neil could get. 

If Neil dared—and he usually _did_ dare—, he might even say it wouldn’t be bad. 

* * *

Despite the rumours, Neil has never hated Andrew Minyard. _Ever_. Not even all those times when they had been on the field or near it, and Neil tried to use his best tactic to destabilize players against Minyard: running his mouth. 

Though they were two years apart during school, Neil remembered doing _everything_ he could to try to take Minyard’s mind off of the game—never realizing that it was impossible because Minyard’s mind was _never in_ the game. 

Still, Minyard _did_ join the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, who knows why. The team used to have only Renee Walker as their goalie, but then she had successfully convinced Minyard to join, and suddenly it had become _much_ harder to win games. As a Slytherin, Neil didn’t care what tactic he used to win as long as he did _everything he could_ to achieve it. 

Without cheating, of course, because he had standards. 

The best tactic he’d ever had was insulting people, which he was plenty good at. He didn’t have to retort to slander, because Neil had an almost eerie ability to find the _exact_ point that would break all the players and he had fun trying to find what made _them_ crack—something that he did less and less as he got older because it was _too similar_ to what his own father would do, often to _Neil himself_ —but Minyard? 

Neil _never_ found what could shake Andrew Minyard enough to make him a little worse out in the field. From when Minyard got into the team in the beginning of his Fifth Year (Neil’s Third Year, second of being part of the Slytherin team), Neil was unable to rattle Andrew at all by spewing whatever he wanted at him. 

After a while, Neil realized that _taunting_ Andrew so he would pay attention to him during the game worked a little—almost nothing, but it was still _something_. It would make Andrew target _him_ with the Quaffles, but oh well. When playing against Hufflepuff, Neil only had to do his job as a Seeker and try to get the fucking Golden Snitch as quickly as possible at the same time that he tried to make himself the biggest pesky annoyance in Andrew Minyard’s life. 

Thanks to his efforts in trying to be insufferable, a rumour had spread through Hogwarts that Neil _hated_ Andrew. After a while, it had grown to say that they _hated each other._

It wasn’t true. There was no basis for it. They barely interacted and only crossed paths in Quidditch-related events and detentions. When their respective controversies blew up in the Prophet though, so did the rumour about their rivalry. 

Mostly because they became targets of _hatred_. From different crowds, of course, but still… since it was the belief of most people they were both _terrible_ , the entire school just sort of sacked them together. 

They indeed had _some_ overlapping issues that made it easier to be targets of hate. Both had controversial pasts that blew up in the media (Neil because of his father’s experiments and Neil’s involvement in that, Andrew from being an _American_ with an _American accent_ accused of killing his mother), bad parents (which was broadcasted by the Daily Prophet, technically _another_ thing that could classify as the third overlapping coincidence that played on their lives, since the bad press they got was the only reason they were both harassed—Andrew for a shorter period of time because _his_ controversy only blew up when he was in the beginning of Seventh Year). Both of them were _bastards_ towards anyone, unprompted or with little prompt needed. 

Of _course_ , the harassment they suffered was _slightly_ different; Andrew had to deal with parents sending him letters to try to convince him to stop going to school—“so he wouldn’t kill their children”. Neil, however, was harassed for a _longer time_ by basically every single Muggleborn in the school—which… was _understandable,_ in a twisted sort of way. Neil’s father conducted experiments on Muggles _and_ Muggleborns. Often. So the logic behind it was that Neil _must have been_ just like his father, instead of one of his experiments as well, correct? 

The last thing they had in common was that they were both constantly involved in fights and had to complete their punishments together, often. Andrew would mostly ignore Neil when they had to complete their tasks, but Neil knew he _listened_ to him even when he didn’t want to, so Neil would often _rant_ while Andrew was nearby and, if he didn’t want to listen, _he could walk away_. 

It could be argued that another overlap was how they were both dubbed “evil snakes”, even though Minyard wasn’t a Slytherin. Minyard had been accused of matricide, after all, and people could not accept he had been acquitted. It was easier to speculate that Minyard was thrown in the wrong house than that _maybe_ he didn’t kill his mother only because “it looks like something he would be capable of”. 

The last thing they had in common was Kevin Day, but they both had vastly different approaches on how they dealt with the man: Neil did his best to admire Kevin’s abilities and hate him in equal measures, and Andrew… Neil did not understand why they were friends, but they were. 

All of those were _obviously_ grounds to classify what they were to each other as “enemies”. Since they “fought a lot”—which was, admittedly, only Neil yapping away at Minyard’s direction, who was always indifferent—and "were evil"… If they weren’t being evil _together_ , they had to be evil against the other. 

When Minyard graduated, Neil thought he would try to be an athlete. Neil had to give up on that dream because he doubted there was a team out there who would be willing to sign him with all the bad press his name carried, but Andrew had been _acquitted_. 

Still, when it became clear that Kevin Day would become an Auror instead of a Quidditch player— _another_ shock that made even _less_ sense, since Kayleigh Day was one of the _biggest_ players _ever_ —, Neil just knew that Andrew Minyard would stop playing altogether and follow Kevin. Andrew used his surprisingly _good_ N.E.W.T.s to become an Auror and, when they were both done with their training, Kevin and Minyard became Auror partners. 

Two years later after they graduated from Hogwarts though, _Neil_ had come to the realization that he couldn’t play, but he could still _fly_. It had always been his favourite part of playing Quidditch—being on a broom, flying and day-dreaming about going _anywhere_ far away enough. 

Unlike both Minyard or Day, Neil didn’t _care_ about becoming an Auror. Investigating crimes sounded frankly _boring_ and not at all as active as Neil liked to be. However, Neil was quite partial towards dueling and was good at it. Coupled together with the complete mess around his father, Neil couldn’t see himself becoming anything other than a Hit Wizard. 

Which _also_ led to people in the DMLE trying to sack them together there too, but they weren’t in school anymore. The rumours about what they felt for each other that travelled through the Department but they didn’t interact all that much and, when they did, it wasn’t unpleasant enough to keep being reported that they _hated_ each other. People made bets about it, but it mostly died down. The only people who insisted on putting them together were the people who _hated_ them—be it for all the reasons given above or just by new ones, that Neil didn’t care to learn. 

Neil could just _imagine_ the kinds of bets that would come from this cruel twist of fate. 

Neil was, undoubtedly, _fucked_. But at least he was fucked with Minyard, and not someone who'd make his life hell. They could work together, right? They just had to ignore almost everything. 

* * *

Neil seriously thought things wouldn’t be _so bad_. There was no way he could’ve predicted he would reconsider his words not even thirty minutes after thinking them. 

They had arrived at Neil’s flat and Andrew had reluctantly come inside when Neil put the wards down—the reluctance only growing when he noticed Neil’s cats. 

Neil didn’t notice Andrew’s behaviour, because he was organizing in his mind what would be the order to go about this as efficiently as possible. He could always come back and get something if he forgot anything, but Neil had been _genuinely_ trying to think about how to do this without inconveniencing Minyard too much—or at all. 

It was a good thing that Neil’s mother had made him memorize the List of Necessities when he was little. It had taken him _forever_ to realize that the List of Necessities were the items Neil would need in order to survive if they needed to go away quickly. They tackled three areas: basic items, food and currency—not only his normal money but also Muggle, and some jewellery that could be sold. 

It took Neil even longer to realize that his mother had tried to play the waiting game to run away from his father, and she had lost. On one hand, Neil had to witness his mother’s death. On an even worse hand, his father had imprisoned him in the basement after casting fucking _Fiendfyre_ there. And on top of both of those hands, there had been a team of Hit Wizards sent to the Wesnisnki house _that night_ who’d missed Neil’s father by a hair’s breadth. 

At least Neil had been saved. The gruff-looking wizard who came blazing through the basement had Muggle tattoos on his exposed forearms. The tattoos were fire-related—flames running up the man’s arms—and it was just another thing that helped ingrain that night in Neil’s mind. 

Nowadays, he could look at Wymack's arms without flinching. He still had his bad days but at least looking at the depiction of fake fire on his boss' arm didn't throw Neil back into his traumatic evening. 

Thanks to the List of Necessities though, Neil _never_ forgot how to prioritize what was important to catch when he needed to pack, be it for running or for trips, which was immensely useful for Neil right at that moment. 

His luggage had an Expandable spell on it—which was also useful, since Neil didn’t know how long he’d be on this predicament. He needed enough clothes to be presentable, toiletries and personal grooming lotions and potions, entertainment in the form of the books—that he had been gifted over the years by people who really didn’t know him—mostly because he knew he would get bored without his job and that was _dangerous._ Lastly, he would need to make space in his luggage for all the things the cats would need, of course. 

Minyard stood by Neil’s bedroom door, judging each article of clothing that Neil put away with squinted eyes. One of Neil’s cats begun to walk circles between Minyard’s legs, who was steadily ignoring the meowing without a blink. 

“The cats will have to go with us,” Neil told Minyard as he absent-mindedly folded his wool cloak _just in case_ it got too cold on a rainy day. Neil hadn’t been paying attention to Minyard, or he would’ve noticed how his jaw clenched almost painfully. 

When Minyard said “No” vehemently though, Neil _had_ to look at him. Mostly because he was confused, but after taking a few moments to think about it, he realized that Minyard was saying no _about the cats_. 

“I don’t have anyone who can take them,” Neil said slowly. 

Minyard wasn’t moved. “Put them in a shelter.” 

“I will not give my cats away, Minyard, be reasonable!” Neil could only scoff in disbelief. “They are going with me.” 

“Good luck keeping them there.” The way Minyard said it was ominous for comfort. 

“You will _not_ harm my cats or do anything that will lead to them getting hurt.” 

Minyard’s jaw clenched again, harder and much more pronounced. “It’s enough that _you_ will invade my home,” Minyard said, and the way he emphasized the “you” was familiar to Neil, although he hadn’t expected it right then and from _Andrew Minyard_ of all people. 

Just by walking through the Ministry’s lobby, or whenever he was asked to attend some meeting and he had to walk somewhere or use the lift, Neil was sure to find someone who would look at him funny—or even worse, say “It’s _you_ ” to him dismissively, or with plain, aggressive _hatred_. 

It wasn’t something new or novel. The Wizarding Society subjected Neil to that kind of treatment since his Fourth Year at Hogwarts, and it only got better when they finally arrested his father for messing around with illegal potions and being accused of creating a cult—almost a _full year_ after Neil had been saved from the Fiendfyre. 

It had been too late to save Neil from being forced to help him. That abuse started as early as Neil has memories, but at least he had forgotten some earlier happenstances. Neil’s mother did her best, but Neil's father had taught him the “proper way” to find ingredients, brew a potion and also to test their effectiveness earlier than what most Hogwarts students had the privilege. The worst part of it for Neil was to _know_ that the ingredients his father forced him to fetch were illegal and would be used nefariously. That his father used the potions he had watched and stirred on innocent people—and later, as he got more insane and careless, on _Neil_ himself. 

Neil had been an item in many crimes. His memories were _ransacked_ by the Ministry’s employees who found him _not guilty_ of the stuff he had been forced to do, but _nothing_ Neil could say would erase his involvement in terrible things. Or convince people that Neil, _a child_ , deserved to be _forgiven_. 

The Daily Prophet couldn’t have access to Neil’s testimonies, but they had sources confirming it was “all very much evil”. The speculation had run _wild_ through the publications related to the chase of his father, the jury and then, finally, the sentence. Neil had never been _guilty_ by the Ministry's standards, but the same couldn’t be said of the media. It didn’t help that Neil was the only one alive. No other victims survive his father’s methods _or_ followers. 

The public didn’t know exactly what _Neil_ had done for his father—but they knew what his _father_ had done, and his father’s crimes became Neil’s. Muggleborn students either ran away from him in fear or hexed the shit out of him. 

It didn’t matter that it was because of Neil’s mother’s death and the information she had leaked to the Hit Wizards that his father was shipped off to Azkaban, only to be Kissed after his actual trial. It didn’t matter that Neil had the marks on his body from when he tried to refuse aiding his father—or simply when he needed to be amused. 

The Wesninski fortune had suffered a hit to pay for reparations. Neil was more than glad to see it go away, and later he made efforts to put even more of it into good causes, anonymously. He wanted to use that money as _little_ as possible, since nothing that could come of it would lead towards satisfaction in any way. 

It still left Neil with a completely soiled name. His reputation would follow him even after Hogwarts through his name alone, so he changed it, which helped only a little. Regardless of his name, Neil was more than qualified to be a Hit Wizard—he had eight N.E.W.T.s to the required five. Not that _that_ mattered much. For the first few months of his training, Neil had to endure lecturers always looking at him when talking about the blood-purists’ rhetoric of dark wizards. He had students approaching him, either in sympathy or to “put him in his place”. 

It only lasted a few months because Neil reacted the same way he did when in Hogwarts: he would give you a piece of his mind while defending himself. No physical attacks, just a verbal dressing down. Neil refused to raise his wand at people and put _himself_ in actual trouble. His mouth was enough to clarify that he wasn’t there for that bullshit and that he would never be. It helped that Neil had experience talking back at anyone, hitting where it hurt the most. 

Neil survived anything and everything. He always did. 

It was still unexpected to hear _that_ emphasis on Andrew’s voice, though. Arguably, _Andrew himself_ had suffered something similar when the news of his mother’s suspicious car accident that resulted in her death circled around thanks to the Daily Prophet deciding to look _a little closer_ at Kayleigh Day’s child’s friends. 

Andrew had been in his last year. Neil’s father’s trials had just finished and the Prophet was thirsty to slander more people, pulling no punches. Andrew didn’t have the weight of a family name like the Wesninskis, but people didn’t think he was good enough to be around Kevin Day at all. 

That was enough to garner some attention for Andrew for a few months—both from the Daily Prophet and from parents. The Daily Prophet was especially cutthroat—they called Andrew a psychopathic murderer. They speculated what other crimes Minyard must have committed. It was all in a way that made it clear they were _only_ posing theories, because Andrew was a minor and they couldn’t get access to his actual case to confirm those theories. 

It didn’t last long, because the Daily Prophet had more people to slander, but it lasted long enough. Andrew had had to endure endless letters being sent to _him_ by worried parents, because Hogwarts wouldn’t expel a “dangerous” student like him, but they hoped Andrew would drop out. 

Andrew went on _trial,_ missed a few of his N.E.W.T.s and had to even sit on them again in the following year. He took Mood Suppressant potions for years while being evaluated by a Mind Healer. He had suffered side effects of the potion that made him have some manic episodes, where Andrew would laugh and laugh, louder than any emotion he had ever emoted in front of the _whole_ school. Andrew had gone through that _mess_... 

And still there he was. Saying _you_ to Neil in that familiar judgemental tone. 

Neil never thought that kind of judgement would come from the only other student Neil had ever seen being treated as badly as him. It was more disappointing that he thought it should be, since he didn't care about it at all. 

So Neil felt all that urge to be _as nice as possible_ due to, frankly, _guilt_ towards Andrew since this started _die_ a quick and painless death. He _growled_ viciously, “Go _fuck_ yourself, Minyard. I’m the one who has to give up a lot of things so we don’t experience _whatever you did_ in St. Mungo. Stop acting like a prick and threatening harmless animals, even though I know it must be difficult for you to feel and behave like a fucking human being.” 

“Like you know anything about behaving like a fucking human being,” Andrew growled back. “Didn’t you brew some very dangerous potions?” 

“Didn’t you kill your mom?” 

Andrew’s eyes burned with something ugly. 

“Didn’t you use your fortune to clean your criminal records so you could become a Hit Wizard?” 

“Oh, I didn’t need to do that, I was never on trial for anything,” Neil smiled snidely. “Why do you ask, though? Wanted to compare personal experiences? Sorry I can’t help you.” 

To be honest, it wasn’t the sort of comeback that warranted what Minyard did. To be honest, Neil just wanted Minyard to _shut up_ while he packed in peace and not imply anything with his tone of voice. The implication that Minyard had cleaned his criminal records to get into the Aurors was _false,_ and they both knew it. 

Well, _everybody_ knew that after the Second Wizarding War, the Ministry relaxed their standards _a lot_ to replenish their staff. It was why Neil got in, and probably why Andrew got in too. Neil’s grades were exceptionally good, and he knew Minyard’s would be as well, but their public relations to criminals and crimes would get them rejected in normal circumstances. They weren’t as bad as some other people who were now part of the DMLE. There was _no reason_ for Minyard to take it as hard and personally as it did. 

Still, Neil’s implication was enough to make Minyard _walk away from the bedroom_. 

Or rather, _try_ to. 

Neil had felt satisfaction at seeing Minyard leave the doorway, but it was short-lived. A few seconds after Minyard disappeared in Neil's corridor, Neil’s father appeared in his place. 

Nathan was as large and intimidating as Neil remembered him to be on the last day of his trial. He was using his casual robes, which were always bad news to Neil. Casual robes were for the few times that True Wizards had to dirty themselves to get a job done, or that was what Nathan had always told Neil. 

“Dirty themselves” to Nathan was a spectrum that engulfed educating his son on the proper ways of being a wizard, to teaching him how to harvest organs from pretty much _any_ creature, including humans, to testing potions or salves onto Neil, or to force him to watch them being tested on kidnapped Muggleborns or actual Muggles. 

So, as Nathan began to stalk towards Neil, malicious purpose fuelling his menacing expression, Neil could do nothing but close his eyes. Panic had taken over his mind, and Neil just couldn’t _logic_ his way out of it. He only listened as Nathan laughed at him, that laugh that Nathan did whenever he witnessed Neil doing something _childish_ and _unmanly_ , before he unleashed his punishment for that behaviour. 

At least he hadn’t ordered Neil to open his eyes. 

Yet. 

Which meant he would play a little. 

Neil swallowed on nothing and waited for the first Crucio, still listening to his father’s footsteps, but nothing came. The footsteps were still getting nearer and nearer, and Neil had to stop the whimper that was trying to claw its way past Neil’s tightly closed lips. 

“Neil,” Andrew said, and it was enough to bring Neil to the present, and break the horrible hold his father’s ghost still had in his mind, even after being dead for more than a decade. 

Neil’s eyes opened of their own volition. He stared at a shaky Andrew, who had his hands held in fists, ready to defend himself. Neil wished he could be like that in front of his father, even if he was a hallucination. 

“So,” Neil said, and why was his voice so hoarse? Suppressing screams didn’t need _this_ much physical reaction. He cleaned his throat and tried to speak. “So, this is what the Bond does, huh?” 

Minyard looked away, but didn’t bother with replying. 

Neil turned his gaze towards his luggage on the ground and fought to control his breathing. “I’m almost done with my packing,” he said in a low voice. “You can sit in my bed to wait, if you want to.” 

Minyard did just that, and they said nothing to each other at all. They were quiet as Neil emptied out his closet of his meagre robes and shoes, chose some books and coaxed both cats into their carriers. Quiet as they walked to Minyard’s flat, that wasn’t all that far from the Ministry, although Neil shouldn’t say anything since his own flat was unreasonably far—but more secure for being modern. 

Absolutely quiet as they _arrived_ at Minyard’s flat, which was more decorated than Neil’s but smaller. Quieter as Minyard cooked dinner, as they ate it, as Neil fished his pyjamas from his duffel and put them on near the closed bathroom door where Minyard currently was brushing his teeth. 

They said nothing to each other as Neil begun to unroll his sleeping bag, because there was _absolutely_ no way that he would sleep in the same bed as Minyard, especially since it would inevitably bring memories of his mom. Neil didn’t mind sleeping on the ground, even though it was a little chilly. 

Neil also didn’t mind that they hadn’t said anything to each other, as well. If they were quiet, it was much easier to _not_ antagonize each other to the point that made them forget about the distance between them. To the point where all the rumours about them hating each other were proven more correctly than Neil could ever predict. 

If they were quiet, they would _probably_ be safe and survive however long this Bond lasted. 

* * *

Neil woke up in the middle of the night, panting quietly and a little out of breath because of it. 

The waking up in the middle of the night part was not unusual. Neil was, after all, a light-sleeper thanks to his childhood. It became worse in that single year it took for his father to be located, and Neil would be in his bed, either at Hogwarts or at Stuart’ house, _panicking_ at the slightest sound outside his bedroom door. He could never fully shake that off, especially when he had to sleep somewhere he wasn’t yet familiarized. 

Thanks to his terrible childhood, Neil had a never-ending library of memories to relive. 

At first, he thought this was about a nightmare instead of a sound waking him up. As he sat on the ground, hands immediately clutching at the material of his sleeping bag, Neil tried to shake off the blanket of sleep over his eyes to remember what the nightmare had been about. That usually helped him to squash whatever was making him afraid, however it took him only a few disorienting seconds to realize that there was _nothing_ to remember, because he didn’t have a nightmare. Not even a dream. 

It took him a bit less time to realize that his throat was almost painfully itchy. 

Almost at the same time, he noticed Minyard shooting upright in bed as well. Minyard, however, didn’t just sit up. He practically catapulted himself from the bed in order to get off of it, coming to a halt as soon as he found Neil on the ground, looking up at him. Minyard’s hand flew to his throat after that, his eyes frantically observing everything about Neil’s existence as if expecting to find some answer to what was happening. 

From how Minyard was clawing at his throat, Neil could only assume he also had the same itch. The itch that now sort of _puzzled_ Neil because the pain levels were slowly rising… which didn’t feel like good news. Neil didn’t know where the itch came from—he wasn’t allergic to anything, but… maybe it was Minyard’s food? If it was some sort of food poisoning, the only thing they both ate was the spaghetti with meatballs that Andrew cooked a few hours earlier. 

Or… maybe... 

It felt not great to look at Minyard and think about the possibility that it might not be _food_ poisoning. Or rather, not that kind of food poisoning. If they were both having the same reaction… And the only thing in common they had in that situation was that they ate the same food… 

Neil stopped that particular line of thought. It wouldn’t benefit Minyard to try to _poison_ Neil, and poison _himself_ too. 

Neil wanted to get up just so they could talk about this without Minyard towering over him, but the moment Neil tried to stand, his _lips_ unglued suddenly. Without him _wanting_ to, so there was nothing he could do other than watching Andrew’s face as he said, “The first time the Daily Prophet published something about you, I wanted to approach you to tell you it would get better. That they would eventually forget and leave you alone. I wanted you to be… comforted, and to know that not everybody was against you.” 

Neil froze in place, one hand flying to his mouth far too late to stop what was already floating in the silence between them. Neil watched as Minyard’s face went from frantic to _clearly_ slack from shock, just as Neil was at that moment, wanting to know why the fuck he had said that... 

And then he was watching as _Minyard’s_ mouth opened next, blurting, “One time, a student threw a hex at your back, and I hexed them in retaliation before you could turn around. Your face when you did and saw them on the ground is one of the fondest memories I have of Hogwarts.” 

Just like Neil’s, Minyard’s hand flew to his mouth as soon as he’d stopped speaking. _Unlike_ Neil, Minyard’s free hand became a fist, ready to punch… probably Neil, if the panic that was subtly blooming on Minyard’s expression as he let the silence between them grow was anything to go by. 

_OK_ , Neil told himself, trying to calm his mind down. _Let’s organize what we know_. 

Neil knew that what he had said wasn’t a lie. When he saw Minyard being harassed at Hogwarts—which wasn’t _that_ often, since Minyard already had a reputation for fighting to defend his brother _and_ Kevin day, though it did _not_ escape Neil’s notice that Minyard _rarely_ defended when he himself was mistreated—Neil had more than once thought of approaching Andrew. 

After all, Neil didn't hate Minyard. At all. And he had _just_ come out of the other side of the press dragging, with Matt and his friends to help him then. Minyard had his brother and Kevin Day (also a cousin that loved to send him Howlers that seemed to be _louder than normal_ and impossible to ignore), but Neil ultimately wanted to show support to him. Mostly because he didn't think Minyard had that, since things were clearly strained between the Minyard twins, while Kevin was… Kevin. He had been in the limelight since forever and, surprisingly, was never exposed as the arsehole that he was. 

Also, Kevin’s approach to the press was to smile and say as little as possible about anything that wasn't Quidditch. It just wouldn't work. 

What stopped Neil from approaching him was that he didn't want his own reputation to make Andrew's get even worse. Also, Andrew Minyard _clearly_ didn’t care about whatever people had to say about him. Neil also knew that Minyard had never really _listened_ to whatever Neil had to say to him. Maybe because Neil had antagonized him too much before every single Quidditch game. 

In the end, Neil just let Minyard go on with his life, since he seemed to be emotionally fine—well… until the potions were started, at least. Neil almost offered once or twice to tweak the potions, but that had the potential to put _both of them_ in bad situations. 

Neil couldn’t help to keep an eye on Minyard though. Just in case Neil needed to fight someone. 

So, what Neil had said was a truthful confession. Therefore, it was logic to admit that what Andrew had said was also a truthful confession. 

So, it was probably the Bond’s fault. 

With a groan, Neil sat on the ground heavily and let his body fall back onto the sleeping bag, eyes hidden behind both his hands. If it was the bond forcing them to be honest like that with each other, it would mean that Neil’s life would become a lot more difficult to bear soon. 

Minyard’s steps toward him were silent but still audible in the heavy silence. When he spoke, his voice contained a lot of anger and made it clear that he was close, maybe even _uncomfortably_ close. “Did you put Veritaserum on my drink?” 

Neil hadn't bothered to entertain the thought that Minyard might have dosed him with Veritaserum because he knew the potion, intimately. It was one that Neil had experienced more than once, thanks to his father. He knew what it felt like when it went coursing through his body, and the itch was _nothing_ like it. Not to speak about the fact that it was used _in questioning,_ psychopathic fathers apart, and neither of them were being questioned. It had been a blurted out confession, with a physical symptom like the itch to goad him on. 

Neil took his hands off his eyes and squinted at Minyard. “ _You poured the drinks_. And didn’t leave them unattended.” 

Minyard looked sceptical. Neil was indignant at the implication that _he_ would use Veritaserum on anyone, but it wasn’t like Minyard had access to every single potion that had been used against Neil in his past. Still, why would Neil even _do_ that to Andrew Minyard? There would be no advantages to him at all. 

“We are _wizards_ , you imbecile. You might’ve used magic.” 

“This is not how Veritaserum works! You’re a fucking Auror, you _know_ that,” Neil couldn’t help but snarl as he took his gesture broadly with his hands to show his frustration, which only grew as he observed Minyard’s doubtful eyes. “ _I have not put anything on your drink_ , Minyard. It’s probably the bond’s fault.” 

“How do you know?” Minyard’s eyes made it clear he wanted a detailed explanation, quickly. 

“There are a few common punishments put in Bond boxes for newly-weds. The richer or the more opposed you were to it, the more punishments were placed. Some are meant to encourage closeness between spouses through some sort of compulsion spell. We must have been Bound with a box that compels us to confess something sincere to each other.” 

“Unwillingly?” 

Neil couldn’t help but give a sarcastic grin. “Did you want to tell me that, by any chance?” 

Andrew scowled but trudged on. “I meant, can we choose which confession we want to make? Or will it always force us to say something?” 

Neil could only shrug. He wasn’t really the expert there, although he had a little more _inside_ knowledge. 

Minyard clearly didn’t like that answer, but instead of questioning Neil further, he resigned to fixing a stormy look on his face. It also looked like he wanted to pace as he had in the hospital, but this time whilst brainstorming how to get rid of Neil without being caught. 

Well, that was harsh. Minyard simply looked like he was angry enough to murder someone, and Neil was the closest target. 

Not that it worried Neil, though. If Minyard stepped outside the “upright citizen” line, there were people _ready_ to catch him and throw him in Azkaban forever. Minyard had gone this far without proving to anyone that he was indeed a murderer. 

Therefore, Neil only yawned and watched Minyard almost _vibrating_ from repressing himself so much. 

It was only entertaining for _so_ long, however. When it hit around five minutes of continued silence, Neil boredly yawned again and said, “I’m going back to sleep.” 

“What the fuck?” Minyard glared at Neil. “We have to talk about this.” 

Neil frowned. Minyard had just been quiet. For five minutes. ???? 

“No, we don’t. We’ll know more about the box once the Unspeakables talk to us tomorrow.” 

“How are you so calm?” Andrew’s voice was pure disgust. The truth was, Neil _wasn’t_ calm at all. He knew that if he started to think about it, he’d _definitely_ freak out. Neil liked to be in control of what he could say. Maybe it was the fact that his father had used Veritaserum on him every time Neil looked “suspicious”. 

Whatever the reason, just the prospect of not having that control was _terrifying,_ to say the least. 

Neil wasn’t someone who wanted to air all his truths. He felt the safest being an incognito, surrounded by gossip and half-truths—both of which he was sometimes responsible to help spread. 

To force himself to tell the _truth_ when he didn’t _want_ to was exactly the type of punishment that would be the cruellest to him. If he didn’t know it was a coincidence, he’d say that someone had planted that box there _specifically_ against him. 

Neil understood he wasn’t the centre of the universe, though. This was a shitty situation, but _at least_ he didn’t have to tell deep personal truths about his past. If he had to guess, the Bond would make him talk about _Andrew_ , and nothing more. The Unspeakables would tell them what they could tomorrow, and that was all Neil could do about it: wait and hope it wouldn’t have anything else to make it _even worse_. Neil refused to fall prey to his brain’s worries about his future. Letting himself dwell on it would do nothing good, so repressing it as much as possible was the only way out. 

Marriage breaks were _supposed_ to be unbreakable. There was no getting out of this situation, only surviving it. Tomorrow, they would only get to know how long they’d have to survive this but Neil _certainly_ wasn’t going to ponder on it, or he would start to grow resentful—something that would be bad since _Andrew Minyard_ would be stuck with him. Neil on a normal day was already difficult to live with, but a Neil who felt like he had no escape? Minyard would _kill_ him. 

He told the condensed version of his thoughts to Minyard, who scowled at him in a manner that made it clear he didn’t like it. Probably because Neil was being logical. 

Still, it wasn’t like this particular aspect of their situation was Neil’s fault, which he _told_ Minyard. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t make the fucking Box. Also, knowing more stuff about each other might be good. After all, knowing what your arranged spouse thinks about you means you’re less likely to kill them if they tell how embarrassing you are to somebody else. You would also have blackmail material to expose them as well, after all.” 

“That’s… so fucking Slytherin,” Andrew muttered, throwing himself onto the bed. 

“Maybe.” Neil yawned again, but kept talking. “You can’t deny that the logic is sound.” 

Neil heard another muttered “Fucking _Slytherins_ ,” before he fell back asleep, although nowhere near as deep as he had before. It felt more like a deep dozing, actually, but it was better than nothing. He would need to recharge a little before facing his life situation tomorrow with grace. 

Or something close to it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> This chapter contains: A Duel and a Fight (exactly in that order, and the fight has Some Dick Punching), More Confessions, a whole lot of over-thinking them and a little bit of taking care of someone who is sick oh nooooooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  The first chapter definitely got more attention than I EVER expected!!!! WOWIE and thank you!!!!!!!!!  
>   
> This was supposed to have been done on Monday, but I was not feeling greaterino. It hasn’t been as edited as the first chapter (i edited and proofread the first one for 6 hours, and this one for two hours, and lovely Kay looked it over again!!! Thank you, father!!!) so definitely tell me if you spot something grotesquely wrong or if i forgot a specific tag.  
>   
> Still hope y’all enjoy it though!  
> 

Waking up the next day was a bit awkward, but doable. They had gone back to not talking to each other, which was great. Both of them had a mug of scalding hot coffee in hands and they drank it without looking at one another. 

Neil would have preferred a cuppa; However, when he asked where the tea was, Andrew had only stared at him. Neil had eventually gone back to their silence, accepting the mug of black coffee that Andrew handed to him with considerable poise, taking into consideration how he detested it. 

Neil hesitated to address the sweet concoction that Andrew prepared for himself as coffee—even if it was, technically. Barely. 

Their silence reigned even when the awkwardness went away. Not acknowledging at all what they had said to each other in the middle of the night probably had something to do with it, and Neil was happy to not do anything to change that. He hoped that, if it was something that would keep happening, they would never talk about it. It would be better for their future peace. 

Neil still kind of couldn’t believe that once, in their past, Andrew Minyard had his back. Sort of. Without anyone even noticing it, which was even more surprising because Neil’s friends were always around Neil during that whole mess. 

(Neil quickly stopped thinking about his friends, uninterested in making the knot of his chest twist itself around Neil even harder. He had to make peace with the fact that he wouldn’t see his friends for the duration of this predicament. If Minyard had reacted that badly to Neil’s _cats_ , Neil would never get away with inviting his friends over. He also doubted that Minyard would go anywhere with him like that. As long as the same applied to Minyard, Neil could survive on sending owls to his friends for a while. This wasn’t _forever,_ after all.) 

They arrived at the Ministry bright and relatively on time. That was a little baffling for Neil, mostly because they had done it by foot—and wasn’t that an experience in and of itself to Neil, who usually only used his legs for running after some dark wizards every so often—and Andrew had dragged himself all the way, clearly not worried about punctuality. They should’ve been late, but they actually walked at a good pace with each other. 

The first thing Neil saw as they crossed the atrium on their path to the DMLE was a team of Hit Wizards, moving towards the Ministry’s fireplaces to Floo… somewhere nice for a mission. Probably a very cool mission. That Neil wouldn’t be part of—not only because that wasn’t his team, since Matt was always visible as the tallest Hit Wizard in the Ministry, but also because of the fucking Bond. 

Neil was not bitter as he watched them. Not at all. 

Minyard’s gaze almost flattened Neil from how oppressively heavy it was, but Neil didn’t react to it at all. In all honesty, Neil didn’t even bother to try identifying which team it was. Neil would go back to his job, eventually. He wouldn’t be wasting away all the things he had trained for years to do. It wasn’t productive to bitterly envy his coworkers while he shadowed Minyard. Yes, Neil doubted someone would give him some proper task, so he would have to try to… relax on his break. 

A foreign concept to him, seriously. He had never found something to do when Wymack had forcibly made him take his allotted time-off/vacations. At least Wymack would be kind enough to organise them in a way that meant Neil’s time-off matched with Matt’s, so Neil had someone nagging him. Keeping him from running. He didn’t have to watch as people went by, on their way to do the job he would crave to do. 

Neil didn’t have to look at Minyard to know he probably wouldn’t provide some hobby or distractions for Neil at all. If he didn’t want to go fucking mental, Neil would have to find a way to keep his head above the water. 

It didn’t take long for Minyard to stop watching him so closely—mostly because he had to pay attention to where he was going. It was clear by how he walked that Minyard needed people to not touch him at all, and that wasn’t surprising for Neil. Minyard had defended his personal space much like a centaur in the Forbidden Forest when they were still at school. Neil had witnessed how Minyard was good at dodging people that reached out to touch him since their teenagehood, with or without the aid of magic. He could’ve helped Minyard by walking almost in front of him; people naturally moved out of his own way, but when he thought about stepping ahead of him, they were already at the lift. 

Walking through the throng of Aurors towards Andrew’s office was… interesting. It reminded Neil of all those nightmarish trips to the DMLE and the Wizengamot when they were building the case against his father, gathering evidence. The clear hatred in their eyes, with the occasional gaze that made it clear someone wanted to pick his brain apart, know everything he knew. Neil was glad to know that Andrew was one of those Aurors who closed their office doors. 

Neil turned and observed the tiny office that would be his new workplace—prison, his brain unhelpfully corrected—and sighed. Kevin wasn’t there—he was undercover trying to find more clues to their current case—even though his archives and stuff were still very much in his desk, a net of spells interwoven on top of it so Neil wouldn’t touch anything and mess his systems, probably. 

Opening his mouth, Neil was about to ask Andrew why Kevin couldn’t have archived his things before going undercover, but a tiny paper airplane came zooming in, straight towards Neil’s mouth. He closed it with a click and dodged it once, but the second time he tried to dodge, it predicted where he would be and hit his forehead straight on. Neil felt the tip of it bend, which was good. Neil plucked delicately from the air as it tried to fly away, probably to come hit him again, and it unfurled in his hands forlornly. Neil did not raise his head to see what Minyard thought about what he’d just witnessed. 

The paper airplane itself became obsolete and uninteresting once Neil realised it was a summons to the Department of Mysteries. Specifically, the Unspeakables’ floor. 

Andrew started for the door as soon as Neil read it aloud. Neil followed him, trying not to hope that the quickness of it was due to good news. Hoping for something miraculous would just bring pain. Neil had to keep in mind that this call was only to make them aware of any other dangers the box might be hiding. 

The Unspeakables would probably just talk about that, most likely. 

It couldn’t possibly be more bad news, surely? 

Taking into consideration the time, it was obvious that the lifts would be full to the brim with people trying to get to their respective floors. Andrew and Neil shoved themselves into one of them—it didn’t matter which one. That was how getting to the Department of Mysteries worked, after all. 

Neil’s right foot tapped away annoyingly, and there was no amount of glaring from Andrew, let alone the other people, that would make him stop. They got to mind-numbingly experience the lift getting emptier and emptier as they stayed there. It would only take them to the Department of Mysteries when nobody else was in it with them. It didn’t take a long time, surprisingly, but Neil still couldn’t control his impatience. 

As soon as they stepped out of the lift, someone stepped in front of them to block their path. It was sudden enough that Neil had to fight the urge to draw his wand, and he knew that Andrew almost reacted automatically. 

Neil used to dream about becoming an Unspeakable just for the chance to disappear completely. However, the more Neil thought about being stuck inside somewhere, researching something, and not out in the world reminding every single Pureblood that would willingly fund Neil’s father’s research, the weaker his desires got. 

Who knew that being a nuisance was all that Neil Josten could ever want? Truly mind-blowing. 

Still, Neil couldn’t deny he thought it was the dumbest idea an Unspeakable had ever had: to appear suddenly in front of two highly trained wizards, but Neil knew he couldn’t have done anything other than frown and sulk, probably. Also, the longer Neil observed the face of the Unspeakable in front of him, the clearer it was he would forget everything about them as soon as he stopped looking. Neil wouldn’t even be able to hold a grudge against them. 

That wasn’t exactly that surprising; Secrecy of Identities was of utmost importance for the Department of Mysteries or something. 

“Come with me,” the Unspeakable said in a soft voice without introducing themselves, walking along with them towards one of the few doors that existed there… maybe? Neil couldn’t think straight to trust his senses enough. 

It was definitely different, learning about the Department of Mysteries and its security measures, and being there in person, trying to swim through so much magic all at once. Disillusionment Charms held the whole place together, alongside other flavourful hexes and curses that thrummed into Neil’s mind, telling him they were designed to keep people away from their secrets. It was disorienting to try to make sense of anything, and Neil’s brain was throbbing by the time a door opened in front of them and the Unspeakable basically shoved them inside the room. 

There were Unspeakables inside, both masked, of course. They sat on the far side of a medium-sized table, looking at them as they made their way inside. On top of the table, there was a relatively plain-looking box. 

Relatively plain-looking because Neil had seen many Bond boxes. He knew how to basically tell how old they were just by observing the elaborate carvings on them. Sometimes it was even possible to identify the family it had belonged to because they would put their own motifs on the box. If Neil had to guess, he’d say that theirs was not one of the newer ones — “new”, of course, meaning the nineteenth century. Those, like everything made by the Victorians, were stupidly elaborated, including the particularities of their Bonds. 

To be honest, Neil hoped it was one of the really old ones, ninth or tenth century at least. Those were easier to crack and usually worked on a much shorter time frame, both for punishments and forced proximity. Neil hoped this stint would be over quickly. 

If it was one of the later ones though, with a longer time frame, Neil would try not to blame himself too much or get unreasonably frustrated. It wasn’t like he’d lost his balance on purpose, after all. 

The Unspeakables didn’t even wait for them to sit down before blurting out facts about the Bond box between them. The sad thing was that the only new information they could give to them was that the box was probably from the end of the twelfth century, early thirteenth and that the Bond would last anywhere between fourteen to forty-five days, as was the usual for that time period. 

They already knew what the punishment was thanks to their mid-night suffering, but the Unspeakables made it clear that what the box wanted was honesty between them, with the subject being the other person. It made sense as a tactic to force newly-weds to get closer to each other, but it was also the absolute worst thing that could’ve been done to Neil. 

Neil tried not to get panicked when the Unspeakables said there was no hope of unbounding them at all. He already knew that was the case with Bond boxes. Still, there was nothing practical that Neil could do to get rid of the cornered feeling he could feel growing and festering inside himself, ever since he woke up from the hospital yesterday. 

Even worse, Neil’s luck was truly gone from his life. The Unspeakables had not mentioned Floo or Disapparitions at all, so Neil waited until they were clearly done to ask about it, and the only answer he got was a bloody shrug. When Neil scowled at them, one of them sighed and elaborated. 

“We can’t say for sure if it would harm you or not. Pureblood families isolated the newly-weds when they used the box, since it was their honeymoon period.” Neil knew that, but he couldn’t stop his full-on glare at the Unspeakables. Neil almost thought about picking up a fight right there and then, just to get rid of all this tension bunching up his shoulders, but he controlled himself to wait until the Unspeakable was done. “We wouldn’t recommend you test it to figure it out. I think it would be best to stick to Muggle transportations or walking if you can.” 

Neil wanted to get up and pace, but that went against everything his parents had taught him as the proper behaviour to deal with his frustration, even though both of them had given him two different… techniques. The best he could do was dig his fingernails in his palms, visualising himself using a Blasting Curse on the flimsy table in front of them. Neil took a deep breath and held it, trying to control his anger. It wasn’t like it would help in solving anything. 

“The truth-telling,” Andrew started and then made a pause, clearly organising his thoughts. “If we tell something to each other willingly, will it appease the Bond? Or is it only what the Bond wants us to say?” 

Once again, the Unspeakables only shrugged. Neil gritted his teeth and wanted to hit them, but he controlled himself. Bond boxes were hard to figure out for a fucking reason; families kept them for generations and reused them, instead of nicely given over to the Ministry once they weren’t needed anymore. 

Also, Neil doubted that the Unspeakables would waste their time studying it profoundly if they thought it was unlikely that it would hurt neither Neil nor Andrew. It was an inconvenient Bond, but survivable. Neil wanted to scream, but he suppressed that too. 

They sat in silence for a few seconds until Neil swiped the box from the table and got up. The Unspeakable on the left opened his mouth to say something, but the one on the right elbowed them and they snapped their mouth shut. 

“Thank you for your time and help,” Neil said, and he knew he didn’t need to lay heavy on the sarcasm to convey his feelings over their help. Minyard followed him out of the room, and the same indescribable Unspeakable accompanied them back to the lift, watching ominously as the door between them closed. 

“Well… that was useless,” Neil commented, almost spitting the words out. 

“Not entirely,” Minyard sighed and Neil glared at him because how wasn’t he as angry about it? Minyard only raised an eyebrow and Neil’s more than foul-temper. “They did not say it would be dangerous to try to figure out if we can choose what we’ll share.” 

Neil thought back on it, trying to think past his rage, and realised that Minyard was right. Neil didn’t know if he would consider that something good, but at least there was hope. Neil would try not to see it as something to get frustrated over. From the look of concentration on Minyard’s face, he was trying to think of a truth that wasn’t embarrassing but that could feasibly appease the Bond. 

Neil could feel the urge to mock Minyard only to be antagonistic, but he sighed and controlled himself since it was indeed an excellent strategy. The more thought he employed on it, the more chances he had to come up with something comfortable for him to share—and the more options he would have for the following days, if it allowed them to choose what to be honest about. Since they would need to be honest for a little while. 

Neil didn’t know what he could say that would be harmless for his… sensibilities, but also intimate enough. They had time to think on it, though—Neil especially. He thought about how he’d have the entire day to brainstorm what he might want to say because he would have absolutely nothing to do. No duels, no chases. He could already predict that he was going to flirt with going fucking insane from boredom quicker than was ideal. 

Neil couldn’t help but sigh. It was definitely going to be a long day. 

* * *

Neil would later blame his terrible behaviour while at Minyard’s office on frustration. The fact that he had to think about something to be honest probably didn’t help, but Neil didn’t start with ill intentions. Neil’s subconscious simply didn’t enjoy the prospect of honesty. At all. 

Because here was the truth: Neil used to rely a lot on how good of a liar he was. Or rather, how he had to be, just to survive his fucker of a dad, his overbearing, paranoid mom, and even his mom’s somewhat perceptive brother. 

Out of the three of them, Stuart was the lesser evil. Neil lived with him during summers after his dreadful Fourth Year until he graduated from Hogwarts. As soon as he was an adult, Neil used his inheritance to buy himself a flat and moved out, although he didn’t need to. Stuart had never implied that Neil was a burden, and it had been fine living with him—except… Stuart Hatford was a Seer. Neil’s mother had never told him they had a Seer in the family, which was typical Pureblood behaviour. 

Still, it was uncomfortable to understand that there was a possibility that Stuart might have seen something involving Neil’s mother or Neil himself and had done nothing to help them. It had been actually a little enraging for teenage Neil, but mostly terrifying. Neil never asked anything out of Stuart, so… The first few months of living together with Stuart were agonizing. 

Neil kept being as quiet as possible because he didn’t trust Stuart at all, so he had to make it so Stuart wouldn’t catch him outright lying on anything. Neil avoided him as often as possible—and Stuart would let him, probably because the Aurors must have given him a much more detailed description of the memories extracted from Neil than the press. 

What made it horrible to Neil was to entertain the possibility that Stuart might have known something about Neil’s life, either at Hogwarts or with his parents. To Neil, not controlling what Stuart knew was overwhelming. 

So, Neil tried not to speak anything that wasn’t “Yes” or “No” any time he was near Stuart—for the first two summers he lived with him. Neil would lie and lie until he realised… Stuart didn’t look at him like he knew anything unusual. Stuart didn’t interrogate him and pried into his life. Stuart mostly looked like he didn’t know what to do with a teenager, other than to feed him at regular intervals. 

That was basically how Neil learnt that Stuart wasn’t a particularly good Seer. After plucking up the courage, Neil learnt that Stuart also saw nothing related to Mary until it was too late. 

“The Inner Eye doesn’t let me control what I know,” Stuart had explained to Neil. “If I could control what I saw, I would’ve kept a closer eye on Mary. And on you, of course.” 

Neil became better at being a little less skittish after that. Still, the damage was already done, and he’d carry the habit of hoarding little stray bits of himself, guarding them as fiercely as possible. The further away he got from his toxic childhood environment, the better he was at just not lying about things, just being vague about them instead. 

His first internal reaction was to lie, though. 

Just a tad, nothing extreme. Neil supposedly was on the side of the good guys, and that involved not being caught into his lies, usually. 

Neil’s last remaining years at Hogwarts would’ve been terrible if not for Matt, the overbearing Hufflepuff that stopped some wankers from hexing Neil into oblivion one beautiful day after the Prophet disaster and then adopted Neil into his group, regardless of what he thought his friends would say. Allison, Renee, Matt, Dan and even Seth, in his own way—Neil had expected them to be at least a little reluctant towards him, but they quickly proved him wrong. They welcomed Neil in their group and were the ones who basically taught Neil how to be more honest and generally less of a traumatic mess. 

Still, Neil had his limits. Giving free information was often one of them. Neil had learnt when it was okay to bend the truth a little, and when it was better to just come out and say what he meant. However, this whole situation with Minyard and not being able to choose what he would confess, possibly, or have to decide what he was going to give up pressed too many buttons for Neil—the panicked variety of them, that Neil was well-acquainted. 

The problem here was that Neil didn’t feel like he had a _choice_ —and, ultimately, he… didn’t. Either he thought of something to say, or let the Bond take over and say something for him. 

The thought of being forced to think about what he wanted to give up of himself just to not be extorted for information? Well, that was enough to make anybody at least a bit resentful, probably. Neil, however, had an almost overflowing well of resentfulness inside, that needed just the tiniest drop to either overflow or pull Neil under the surface to drown in its depth. 

It didn’t even matter that Neil was technically going to receive something in return. On the surface it was a fair trade, but not fair emotionally. 

It frustrated Neil. He was sitting at a desk that he couldn’t touch—so he wouldn’t get screamed at by Kevin later— _and_ had to make time to think of what would be enough. 

Would it be enough to compliment Andrew’s Quidditch skills? Or did it have to be something emotionally profound? The terms of the Bond were all too open and uncertain—which was understandable because it wasn’t their bloody box or an intentional marriage at all, but Neil still begrudged it. 

Even worse, he had to make mental gymnastics to convince himself he shouldn’t be aiming his anger inwards, blaming himself, and that was a tiny bit stressful. Neil’s stress levels fuelled his frustration and resentment, and it all became an endless cycle of restlessness inside him. He had to externalise something. 

The first time he annoyed Minyard while he was working was technically an accident, per se. Neil had his wand in hand and was spelling flashes of lights, sparkles, anything to distract himself—but in reality, Neil was just giving all the stuff boiling inside somewhere to go. 

It was Neil’s gift to his brain: a pause from feeding the turmoil. He had just been thinking idle and almost soothing things to himself as he watched the sparkles swirl and disappear. Neil kind of wished he’d thought to bring one of his books with him, but it was too late. 

He couldn’t blame his morning self’s unthoughtfulness, though. Both Minyard and him were a bit tense over their nightly episode to properly have the mental space to think about books or distractions. Thinking about Minyard was not good for his soothing experiments, so Neil immediately stopped thinking on that line of thought and tried to go back to concentrating on how bored he was. 

(Also, he was completely ignoring the thoughts going on the back of his mind, unfurling truths that he could use as inspiration or something. Neil really wasn’t paying attention to that at all.) 

So, of course, when Minyard growled, “Stop it,” Neil looked up with genuine confusion, freezing in place before slowly turning towards the other side of the office to see his death on Andrew’s face. 

“What?” 

“Stop the fucking light show,” Minyard’s accent sounded posher than even Neil’s own RP accent, which wasn’t particularly normal. Andrew Minyard had been famous at Hogwarts for his North American accent, much distinct from his twin brother’s Northern British one. Andrew wasn’t mimicking Neil though, only enunciating each word carefully due to his anger. Honestly, Minyard sounded like a supervillain from one of those films that Matt had made Neil watch on their “movie nights”. 

Neil couldn’t help but frown at Minyard. He wasn’t doing anything that warranted that much anger. 

“Not for those manners, I won’t,” Neil snarked back and felt satisfaction at making a muscle on Minyard’s cheek jump from how hard he clenched his jaw. “What would it cost you to be polite?” 

“I showed politeness by fucking talking to you instead of just fucking Stunning you. Really, you are the one who should be more _polite_ if you want to receive politeness back,” Minyard moved quickly, quicker than Neil thought he could do with all those muscles, and he cast a wordless Expelliarmus, making Neil’s wand fly to the other side of the office. “Annoying someone who’s trying to work isn’t polite.” 

Neil didn’t stand up to go after his wand because Minyard was still pointing his own at Neil. Neil wasn’t that thick to get up and risk getting cursed, you know? However, nothing impeded him from squinting at Minyard as menacingly as he could. “Is this what they taught you in your Auror classes? To attack your coworkers?” 

Minyard’s lips smiled, but Neil knew it was fake. “I learned that on my own, of course. It’s effective.” 

“I haven’t got the slightest fucking idea why you were put in Hufflepuff,” Neil snarled, tired of waiting for Minyard to lower his wand. He stood up and walked arrogantly to where his wand was lying on the ground, trusting that Minyard wouldn’t attack his back. Not because he knew Minyard was the sort of person to have, or care, about honour, but because he would probably enjoy having a better view of Neil’s face as he obliterated him with his spell work. 

With his wand in hand, Neil turned to Minyard. It was clear from Minyard’s posture that he expected to receive a counterattack—that wouldn’t come. So Minyard only watched as Neil walked back to his chair leisurely, and then answered what Neil had said with a simple, “The Hat thought I was friendly.” 

Neil gave a quick and brilliant fake smile, and said, “Yes, like a cornered badger.” 

Andrew shrugged because it was true and went back to ignoring Neil. 

However, Neil didn’t want to let that Expelliarmus stand between them. It wouldn’t be fair to Andrew if Neil let him believe Neil would be bullied into submission like his coworkers. 

So Neil Summoned a stack of papers and got to work. 

Andrew didn’t raise his head when the papers appeared, but Neil knew he was alert. But being patient wasn’t a problem to Neil at all. He could work on distracting himself whilst waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack. 

He was doing most of his work on his lap, away from Andrew’s attentive gaze. So when he finally reached the end of his stack of papers and suddenly small, flying origami badgers inundated the office, showing that they apparently had a preference for colliding against Andrew’s face, Neil felt contentment inundate him. 

Neil had always loved being a nuisance, but in that moment of boredom? He loved being a nuisance even more. It was juvenile, but at least it was harmless. 

Until Andrew stopped ignoring the badgers and made them all catch on fire at once. 

In a tiny office. 

With Neil in it. 

The sudden shift from the normal colours in Neil’s field of vision to the flashes of oranges, yellows and reds brought back too many memories—bad ones. Neil was absolutely gone in an instant, drowning in his memories. 

Neil wanted to say that he reacted maturely, but it was fire and he couldn’t think logically around it. Not when he still remembered being stuck in his father’s basement with Fiendfyre trying to end him. The feeling of live, sentient flames transforming into dragons, serpents, anything to try to kill you was something definitely hard to forget. 

When Neil came to himself, the entire office was drenched—papers, shelves, themselves, all dripping from the most powerful Aguamenti that Neil could cast—which was substantially powerful, since Neil had trained how to do that a lot after he had healed from his burns and could use a wand again without crying from pain. 

Reacting like this around fire wasn’t new to Neil. However, it was definitely the first time it happened in front of someone who looked ready to murder Neil for it. Neil wanted to argue that it hadn’t been his fault, technically, but Minyard had finally snapped and his wand moved in a wide, quick circle. Neil could only watch it and raise his own hand automatically. 

Neil deflected Minyard’s first curse with a well-placed shield, but Minyard quickly hit him with a Stinging Hex, and then they were off. Curses, hexes, objects, everything went flying everywhere as they duelled, and Neil barely had any time to think before casting. Mostly, he was just reacting. 

This was what he did for a living—fighting, duelling. As they progressed, the spells became more complex, much faster. Neil actually needed to pay attention to what he was doing or he would get seriously hurt—had Minyard just used an Entrail-Expelling Curse? What the fuck?—and they were so focused on the battle that they barely registered the door to the office opening to their sides. 

They couldn’t ignore the Full Body-Bind Curse that flew at them, though. Minyard fell near the wall, hitting his head on it but being unable from reacting by the curse. Neil had more room to fall, which he used plentifully, facing the door and Wymack’s completely enraged expression. Neil didn’t even have time to wonder what Wymack was doing in the Auror’s office before his enraged expression completely paralysed Neil’s thoughts, and honestly, it was not the time to think about it. 

There was a telling silence, not only inside the office but also outside. Wymack just kept fuming, his heavy breathing loud in the subsequent aftermath of his spell on both Neil and Minyard. Saying nothing, Wymack stepped inside and closed the heavily damaged door after himself. Neil looked at the wood so he wouldn’t have to watch Wymack’s face. 

The poor wood was full of singed marks thanks to stray curses, most of them overlapping each other. Wymack didn’t comment on the marks at all as his hand let go of the door handle and he cast a Muffliato onto it. Wymack turned and looked first at Minyard, then at Neil. 

“I expected some trouble from you, Josten, I will not lie. You’ve been on my team for long enough that I know you’re just a little shit to us. But I didn’t think it would’ve happened this fucking quickly! In such a fucking ridiculous manner as well… There are people outside, for fuck’s sake! This whole situation is already bad enough, but do you have to make it harder on yourself by being a complete git?” Wymack said lowly, clearly trying to reign his anger, which Neil appreciated a lot. Whether Neil wanted it or not, Neil knew that Wymack knew about him and some of Neil’s issues. 

Wymack had to deal with Neil since he was a teenager, so he had too much information about Neil and how he reacted—not only to authority but also angry men. When Wymack needed to dress Neil down, he tried to be not as threatening as he could be, but still… at that moment, Wymack was a large man walking furiously towards him. It was a blessing that Neil was petrified at the moment, or he would have winced automatically, in the hopes that it would make him smaller. 

Wymack seemed to notice it even with Neil petrified, because he stopped marching and glared down at Neil. Neil, again, was thankful. Glaring was much easier to deal with than full-on anger that his brain quickly twisted into _violence._ “You are a guest here with the Aurors, Josten. An actual bloody duel? In an office? Are you out of your mind?!” 

Neil was, as always, angrily impressed at Wymack’s abilities to read a situation so well. That he could accurately accuse Neil of being the perpetrator here was not good news for Neil, but definitely good instincts on Wymack’s part. 

Well, he needed to have a quick reading in situations to wrangle the Hit Wizards into some semblance of organisation. In Neil’s humble opinion, it made Wymack too good at reading conflicts—which was constantly bad for Neil, but also… Neil was also just constantly helping Wymack be better at it, so... 

“I’ve been told that Minyard is quick to draw his wand, so I just knew both of you would eventually resort to this. But on the first day, Josten? I have half a mind to give you a full-on fucking suspension and be done with it! Two months free of you!!” 

Wymack finally ended the spell as he kept tight control of his breathing pattern. Neil’s muscles unwound from their stiff positions, which was a discomfort Neil dealt with it in silence. Wymack had said nothing that needed Neil’s input, anyway. There was no need to talk. 

Neil didn’t bother to get up, but he heard Andrew moving around to sit. Neil could have followed him, but he had nothing to prove and Wymack would loom over him in an even more familiar way than this one. He was fine with staying on the ground. He felt less like a target like that. 

“You have five minutes to explain yourselves,” Wymack said and grew more disappointed as he stood there for five minutes just observing them silently. Neither Neil nor Andrew budged. “This is your first and only warning. If this behaviour repeats, if you look even remotely cross when I come to check on you both tomorrow, I will put a Tracer on both of you and monitor your spell usage like the children you are.” 

And then he walked out, closing the door behind himself but not even bothering to stay and wait for their “Yes, sir.” 

To say that their silence was tense while they cast spell after spell to clean the office and fix the damage of their duel would be the biggest understatement of Neil’s life as of yet. 

When they were done, Neil tried to apologise, but his quiet, “Minyard…” received an aggressive shushing from Minyard, who had his back turned to Neil but got his dark robes out the way with a swish to look at Neil from his kneeling position and say, “We’re going home and we’ll talk about it there.” 

* * *

“A repeat of today is unacceptable,” Minyard told him. 

They were sitting at Minyard’s sofa, each of them as far away from each other as possible, not only by the physical boundaries of the sofa itself but also because of their bond. Minyard’s telly was on, but muted, a colourful distraction for them to stare at since they wouldn’t look at one another. 

Neil wasn’t really paying attention to the Muggle contraption other than to let his eyes vaguely register the movement. He doubted that Minyard was as well. What mattered was that they have a place to focus their eyes instead of looking at each other, struggling to say something. 

It was the most ridiculous thing Neil had ever willingly taken part in and he knew that if the few friends he had seen them, they would roll their eyes, at least. Laugh uproariously at worst. 

At least, Neil could also recognise their situation was unreasonable. 

However, he felt about it, Neil could also recognise that this was important. Their walk back to the flat had been relatively quick, since they came here straight after finishing cleaning the office. 

Andrew didn’t bother to even _tell_ his supervisor he was going home. That wasn’t exactly surprising, taking into consideration the many rumours about Dobson and how she was… protective of Minyard. Some called it flat-out favouritism, but it didn’t matter what it was. Andrew clearly didn’t care about telling Dobson they were done for the day, or that some things were still damaged—like the door. 

Neil didn’t even try to reorganise Kevin’s papers. When Kevin came back to work from his undercover mission, Neil probably wouldn’t hear the end of it, but it was Kevin Day. Who even cared about anything he had to say? Certainly not Neil. 

At that moment, Neil was a little more worried about the reflection that he had to do. Their walk back to Minyard’s flat had been quick, but still long enough for Neil to think about it all and feel a little glum about it. 

To be quite honest, Neil was on the brink of apologising. The only thing keeping him from actually doing it was the rumours he’d heard of what Minyard did to people who tried to say “Sorry” to him in the past. 

Minyard was famously allergic to politeness. Neil still felt a growing amalgamation of discomfort over not saying it. 

In the end, he had to compromise and try to organise his thoughts so he wouldn’t say the words, but the sentiment was the same. “Agreed,” Neil looked at Minyard’s ceiling, voice low but still audible. “My behaviour was—” 

“Understandable, knowing your fame of needing something to do at any and all given times,” Minyard cut him off, then sighed. “I should’ve thought leaving you idle would be a mistake.” 

“Well… that’s true,” Neil hesitated and then also sighed. “It’s still not an excuse for how I behaved.” 

“Maybe, but I also should’ve known better than to… well. We’ve all read the papers. About what happened in your father’s basement.” 

Neil’s mouth soured immediately. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “What will we do now, then?” 

Andrew let out the tiniest sigh Neil had ever heard. “Communicate better, I guess.” 

“That’s… reasonable.” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“You’re not famous for your reasonableness, I must tell you.” Minyard shrugged but said nothing to that. Neil knew he wouldn’t argue against something he didn’t care about. “So, we’ll need basic rules of coexistence.” 

Minyard nodded hard enough that Neil could notice it without looking at him. 

“Not trying to get each other’s attention by being annoying.” 

“Saying what we need to say instead of being passive-aggressive.” 

Minyard sighed. “No dueling.” 

“No burning things intentionally in front of me.” Minyard snorted at that, but Neil turned his head and saw him nodding. Minyard turned to look back at him. They watched each other in silence, letting their truce be enough for a couple of seconds, but... 

As established, Neil felt better always by being a nuisance. Neil couldn’t help but grin sarcastically. “Our first fight as a couple.” 

The way Minyard’s head spun away towards the telly was absolutely comical. Neil’s grin could do nothing but get bigger. 

“Shut up, Josten,” Minyard sounded bored, but Neil knew enough about deflection to identify the forced nonchalance that undermined Minyard’s voice. “Do you know how to cook?” 

Neil scoffed. “Poorly.” 

“Spoiled by House Elves, I imagine,” Minyard said, and stood up before Neil could react at all. 

Not that he would have reacted negatively. Neil was indeed a Pureblood, from an old family with old family money and an old family of elves. Even when he was suffering at his father’s hand, they had a full staff of Elves that took care of the kitchen, the cleaning—both of the house and of whatever family member or… experiment was sporting wounds. Usually, Neil was the one being cared for. 

The point was, Minyard wasn’t wrong. Neil could order food as an adult and as a child. 

“Come,” Minyard said when Neil didn’t get up. Neil startled a little at the sound of Minyard’s voice, and he got up quickly, expecting Minyard to look annoyed, but he looked… blank, like he didn’t care. “I’ll cook for us.” 

“That’s… nice,” Neil said tentatively, making Minyard roll his eyes. 

Neil hoped Minyard was, at least, a decent cook, because Neil would be of no help at all, probably. 

Once in the kitchen, Minyard told him he was going to make homemade pizza, which was one of those Muggles dishes Neil knew thanks to Stuart and his obsession with Muggle food, and also Matt and his insistence on “broadening Neil’s horizons”. 

Minyard’s process made pizza look very similar to making Potions. Well, in the most loose sense of “similar”. It mostly reminded Neil of it because Andrew was _precise_ with each ingredient, something that Neil didn’t expect him to be. 

It should have been uncomfortable for Neil to be near something that reminded him of honestly too many bad times to count properly, but… it looked fun. All the mechanical parts of Potion-making, the harmless activity of putting the right amount of stuff to make the dough and then using your hands to complete all the steps. 

No magic, no spells. Just… handwork and hard work. 

It looked intriguing in the best way possible. Especially since Neil had never stopped to think about the making of pizza or any other food. Ever. 

That being said, Neil would hesitate to call the chocolate and strawberries monstrosity that Minyard constructed a true pizza. Neil didn’t care about even going near that amount of chocolate, eating his pepperoni and onions pizza with a side of horror and fear for Minyard’s health. 

When he had finished with his pizza, he picked some strawberries off of Minyard’s—moving slowly, carefully, feeling Minyard’s heavy gaze on him but making it clear that he was waiting for protests. 

None came, and Neil let himself eat three strawberries before feeling like he was tempting fate too much. 

They moved back to the living room, and the cats finally made an appearance. As soon as they had walked inside, both cats seemed to feel it wasn’t a good idea to do more than greet them, so they did their figure 8s around their legs and booked it to Minyard’s bedroom. Probably going to lie on Minyard’s bed and make it colourful with their fur. 

Now that neither of them seem ready to die from feeling too much, the cats had reappeared to follow Minyard and fight to lie on his lap while Neil watched it happen, fascinated. Neither of the cats had ever shown this much interest towards any of Neil’s friends, or even Neil most of the time. The consensus they both reached was that Minyard had one cat warming up his lap, and the other warming up his feet. 

Neil was fine with curling up on his side of the sofa, a tiny ball that kept himself warm very well, thank you, but also… who would have thought that for someone who was so vehemently against them, Minyard would be _that_ attractive for the cats? 

The telly had its sound on now, but an owl tapping on the window distracted Neil. It was carrying a letter. Minyard grunted at being made to stand, and both cats complained with him. He still did it, only to grunt in annoyance and throw the letter at Neil, who plucked it from the air with lightning speed. 

The owl refused to get in the flat, which Minyard probably was thankful for since the owl was slightly damp-looking from the London weather. It wasn’t pouring, but the owl was wet enough that droplets of their wings would probably dirty the living room’s carpet. 

Both owl and Minyard were watching Neil, who didn’t keep either of them waiting for too long. The owl quickly left after Neil could find a treat for it in the little pouch Andrew kept near his own covered cage. 

With the owl gone and Andrew closing the window, Neil could finally look at the letter. It was from Matt, which wasn’t surprising at all. The letter was lengthy, mostly because it hadn’t been just Matt writing it. Dan, Allison and even Renee—who Neil thought he would see today, but had to leave to investigate something and hadn’t come back by the time that Minyard and he… yeah—had left messages in the letter wanting updates on his current situation. 

They wanted to know _everything_ about their duel. All the information they had had been provided via gossip, and their duel had grown in the telling exponentially—not only in the proportion of their damage but also to what motivated them to fight in the first place. 

There was money involved, as always. They needed a report. 

Neil sighed as he summoned paper to write a reply, telling as little as he could of what they had told each other, but still as honest as ever. When he finished writing, he asked Minyard if he could send the letter via Floo because the rain outside had become stronger. To his surprise, Minyard just looked at him and said that he locked the Floo since he wouldn’t use it, anyway. 

“Use my owl and charm your paper so it’s waterproof,” Minyard told Neil, pointing lazily to the corner of the room where the cage was. Neil thanked him quietly. He hadn’t expected Minyard to be petty about it, but he also couldn’t honestly have said that he expected Minyard to be courteous as well. 

Neil lifted the black, soft fabric covering the cage to see that it contained the first and only mostly black owl Neil had ever seen. The cats meowed complaints at the loud screech the owl gave at being disturbed, but didn’t move from Andrew’s lap and feet. 

One thing about Minyard had to be said: his commitment to the colour black was commendable. 

“Where did you find an owl with such dark feathers?” Neil asked. 

“In an owl shop,” Minyard said and shrugged when Neil paused in the middle of tying up his reply to the owl’s leg to glare at him. “She’s from South America.” 

“What’s her name?” Neil asked as he opened the window with his wand for the owl to fly away, although not before trying to take a bite of Neil’s fingers. 

“Imke.” Neil hummed to signify that he’d heard him. Neil closed the window with a careless spell and walked back to the sofa. Andrew was absentmindedly petting Neil’s Tuxedo cat. “What’s the name of your cats?” 

Neil couldn’t help but explode in a short laugh. Matt had appeared on the first day Neil moved into his flat with a Tuxedo cat in a box, saying that Neil needed company. Neil had been flabbergasted, but also… the first thing the cat did when Matt put it down on his own lap was _to shit all over it_. Neil had to keep it just in the hopes of hopefully having more situations like that one. 

Not long later, he found an orange cat meowing when he was out on a mission. The cat looked hungry as fuck, so Neil picked it up and brought it home. He knew that wasn’t the proper way to introduce cats, but it went honestly fine, thankfully. 

He refused to name either of them, though. Matt kept insisting he should do it, but Neil would just smile and tell Matt that if it bothered him, he should name them—just like Neil wanted him to. Because Neil knew that their friends were betting on what sort of posh name he would choose, and Neil refused to play. 

“They don’t have names,” Neil told Andrew. 

“Then I’m gonna call this one Frock and the other one will be Twat,” Andrew answered after a few seconds of silence, and his voice booked no argument. 

“Why?” Neil still asked, frowning. 

“Because one is a Tuxedo cat, and the other woke me up in the middle of the fucking night by biting my nose,” Andrew told him and Neil exploded into sudden laughter again. 

“Well, you can call them whatever you want.” Neil sprawled on the sofa, feet almost touching Andrew’s leg. “I politely refuse to call them by anything.” 

Andrew shrugged. “Do as you want.” 

“As long as I’m five metres away from you.” 

Neil laughed at the look on Andrew’s face, but he knew he wouldn’t hear protests. 

* * *

When night came, though, the last thing Neil wanted to do was to laugh. 

It was… understandable. He had lost so much of his time worrying about his behaviour around Andrew, and then watching him cook, then replying to Matt’s letter that he had thought almost nothing about what he was going to be honest, other than the theme: Quidditch. 

They both had played it for their Houses. Neil still very much loved the game, even though he had to come to terms with the fact that he would never be an athlete, not even for Chudley Cannons. Neil’s past was a little too much of a mess to clean without using money, and Neil didn’t want to play that badly. Also, even if he got on a team, would Neil even find sponsors? Would his past be a ghost in his career, much more than it was with the Hit Wizards, because Neil would be in the public eye, having it dragged over and over on every game? 

It wasn’t worth it. Especially when Neil had the qualifications to go become a Hit Wizard. He’d thought nobody would even think about trying to blame him for compacting with Dark-anything when he was out every day, risking his life to capture dark wizards. He had been wrong on that, since some of his coworkers certainly thought that about him, but the public? 

Not anymore. Especially since not even the Daily Prophet could find something bad to report about him, and Neil had learnt to stop being inflammatory. 

About that truth-telling moment, though... 

They put it off as much as they could. It was nearing midnight and they would have to wake up relatively early tomorrow to walk to the Ministry. Still, it was hard to look at each other and just… say it, so they just… got ready for bed together. 

Minyard took longer because he did most things the Muggle way. Neil just used spells, and that was good enough, so he just sat on the closed toilet lid and watched as Andrew did his nightly routine. 

It wasn’t like Neil was going to complain about it, you know? If the time that Andrew took to get ready for bed bothered Neil to the point of annoyance, he was perfectly able of saying something and then having to deal with the potential duel it might spark. Or Neil could rush him, but since Neil was fine with waiting, he simply did that. And used his time to think, obviously. 

The thing was, Neil was still sort of trying to decide exactly what he was going to say. All those hours in Andrew’s office before their fight and even their tentative truce weren’t able to make him come up with something that felt appropriate. As they sat on the bed, one in front of the other, already in pyjamas, looking at each other, Neil still couldn’t decide on something. 

Their staring was starting to feel weird. Uncomfortable. Neil kind of wanted this build-up to end soon. 

“So… I’m going to go first today again, but next time I want us to take turns, alright?” Neil blinked at Minyard, who nodded his head briefly but didn’t talk. Their silence lulled Neil back to painful territory and Andrew didn’t seem inclined to help him end the heavy atmosphere, so Neil decided to just blurted out, “You were the most incredible Keeper I had ever had the displeasure of playing against. And just a reminder in case you forgot, I was a Seeker, you know? I didn’t have to interact with you at all, but you always made sure to include every player in your games with your incredibly accurate aim when bashing Quaffles back at us.” 

“Of course you’d choose something Quidditch related,” Minyard murmured and Neil shrugged while he tried to contain his grin. It hadn’t been that terrible, and now it was over. 

“I’m glad to be predictable.” Neil gave him his best, but mocking, half-bow. “I’m sure you must feel reassured that you can always know what to expect of me.” 

There was no verbal reply to him, but Neil could read at least what the expression on Minyard’s face meant: disdain. Probably because Neil was right. Neil had agreed to not antagonise him though, so he let Minyard’s expression slide from his worries and waited patiently for whatever Minyard had decided to be honest about. 

With a jolt, Neil realised that he hadn’t stopped to think about that part of it at all. Andrew Minyard, who wasn’t exactly a man of many words, was going to have to be honest with Neil for once. He would have to speak. About Neil. Using his words. 

What kind of confessions could he possibly have? 

It felt like Neil should treat that moment as something grandiose—especially because it was, in a way. Nerve-wracking, too. Neil was so used to being nothing of importance on Andrew Minyard’s life, other than the object for the comparisons that arseholes on the DMLE did, that he didn’t think— 

And before he could think on it any further— 

“I almost invited you for the Yule Ball to annoy my homophobic brother, but I knew you were going with Reynolds.” 

Neil stopped—moving, breathing, maybe even being a living creature—and was the only one who did so. It was… simply that—short, direct—but more than enough to make Neil’s world tilt a little on its axis. 

With his confession out in the open and their business theoretically done, Minyard worked on pulling the covers to slide under them. Without uttering one single word to make Neil get up and stop putting weight on the cloth, he was tugging insistently to cover himself. 

It was a slightly maddening moment for Neil, who wanted desperately to question Andrew, even though he wasn’t a sentient being again yet. Those confessions were almost enough to bring Neil back because… 

They felt loaded. What did Minyard mean to imply? That he wasn’t straight most certainly, but also that he considered Neil someone appropriate to be seen with? That he could accept the thought of people assuming they were together, just so he could enrage his bigoted brother? 

The Yule Ball had happened during the Prophet storm, and it would mean that Minyard had paid enough attention during school to know who Neil had invited to the Yule Ball—the event that transformed Neil’s social life—but most importantly, Minyard paid attention to Neil enough to know that? 

Neil felt like that confession had been layers and layers of honesty that needed careful thought to unravel—but Neil, tired as it was, could do nothing but go around in mental circles trying to decide what Minyard had confessed, exactly. Or rather, which of the things he implied were the ones he actually _meant._

It was amazing to realise that Minyard could communicate the way Neil mostly expected from a _Slytherin_. 

Neil’s confession suddenly seemed inadequate. 

“Hit the light, will you?” Minyard said in a low voice, startling Neil out of his thoughts. He didn’t know how long he’d been there just… thinking, but probably a little while. Neil got his wand out and spelt the little knob on the wall to turn the lights off, and he was still trying so hard to make sense of what Minyard had said that he completely forgot to tease Minyard about not using his own wand to turn off the lights himself. 

Neil found his sleeping bag in the dark, and slipped into it as silently as he could, which was the absolute opposite of what his brain was doing. 

There was no way for him to stop thinking, though. Not even just the content of their honesty, really. Would those be acceptable for the bond? Would they wake up in the middle of the night to confess? Had Andrew Minyard divulged at least three fucking truths to Neil, unprompted and freely? 

Would that come to bite Neil in the arse later? 

It took him forever to finally stop thinking about the imbalance of their statements and to fall asleep. His dreams were a turmoil of Quidditch flights and the feelings of being chased. Neil was no stranger to that feeling though, even in the relative safety of his own mind. So Neil just… flew in his dream until the whispers of the wind were a roar over whatever monologue the dream was trying to make him listen to. At some point in the dream, he stopped being chased for real and it felt more playful. 

Neil still woke up exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that came from sleeping a lot and exercising in the dream. And he knew that even though he shouldn’t, he would probably go right back to thinking about their confessions as soon as his brain had a moment of rest. 

It felt like it would be a long day. 

* * *

Neil had been correct. Sort of. 

It was sad to see more evidence that Neil’s luck had truly run away from him that week. He had a good count of almost three decades of it serving him, and now he found himself bereft to the whims of fate. 

His head felt like it was going to implode, turn itself inside out and then slowly get itself back without piecing all the jagged-pieces properly, as painfully it could be on Neil. He stood against his pain in silence, though. He wouldn’t bother Minyard while he was working, even though he’d been told to inform somebody if he felt any effects. 

A mix of different potions had doused Neil from head to toe not long after they had arrived at the Aurors’ headquarters. It had been a gift from a “clumsy” Auror who came to hand to Minyard the potions Kevin Day had sent for their latest case, the one that occupied Kevin so he had been unavailable for the mission where Neil and Minyard ended up bonded. Neil vaguely knew they were investigating the death of a Potioneer, who had potentially died by his own mistakes. Hence, the potions—that hopefully were properly catalogued and taken samples for the Unspeakables to analyse before being showered all over Neil's chest because the “clumsy” Auror accidentally tripped and some potions weren’t sealed enough. 

It would be important to tell Andrew if Neil was feeling anything at all. The mixing of so many potions directly onto his skin—potions meant for drinking, not applied topically… 

It was dangerous, but also familiar territory to Neil. Which was the reason he was so quiet about the headache he was currently feeling. Neil was used to having different potions interacting in his system, thanks to his father’s Potion-making madness. Neil knew what it felt like to almost die from a mix of potions, and he wasn’t there yet. Neil could weather it fabulously, pretending to be A-OK, especially if the alternative was to disrupt the Minyard’s work for the second time in a row. 

Instead of concentrating on his agony, Neil thought about their morning. The aftermath of their voluntary confessions was that nothing different happened. The Bond apparently appreciated their honesty, because they didn’t wake up during the night, feeling no urge or itchy to utter anything to one another at all. 

Neil felt relieved, but also a little worried. Even though he loved Quidditch, would he be able to come up with enough truthful confessions that involved Minyard? Neil would need anywhere between 14 and 45 truths, and he didn’t know if he had enough to talk about Quidditch and Minyard. At least it was nice that even though Minyard had been vocal about his absolute distaste for Neil’s choice of theme—and for Quidditch itself, of course. Minyard had always made it loud and clear that he hated Quidditch, but he never once told Neil to shut up about it—mostly because they weren’t friends, but that wasn’t important—and he didn’t prohibit Neil from saying anything about it in their predicament. 

But if not Quidditch, what would he talk about? 

Could his head split itself open faster, since it was so determined to end his existence? 

Exactly when he wished for his obliteration, the (fixed, not a single proof of stray curses on the wood) door opened itself suddenly. Neil would’ve jumped from the fright if he hadn’t been so focused on staying perfectly still for hours now, just feigning that he was boredly reading a book, even though he was, as aforementioned, simply wishing for death. 

Wymack took one look at him and frowned. “You’re in pain. Why are you in pain? The fuck have you done now, Josten?” 

“In pain,” Andrew repeated in a normal, calm voice. Or, well, as normal as a murderous tone could be. “I told you to tell me if you felt anything.” 

“Oh, you know how it is,” Neil said, waving a hand in the air. “Time flies when your body is torturing you.” 

“Someone explain to me why Neil was supposed to say if he felt something? As if he knows how to be honest about pain,” Wymack said in his usual gruff and loud manner, which was enough to make Neil almost resort to whimpering due to fear and loud noises, but he stood his ground—as in, he didn’t list to the side to die all curled up. 

Andrew explained the whole accidental potion-dumping on him and he kept his hard gaze on Neil as he answered all the follow-up questions Wymack had for him. Neil, apparently with no reason to pretend anymore, let his stiff body dismantle itself as much as it could on top of the new desk that had been put in the office for him, this one with none of Kevin’s papers, probably for the paper’s safety. Had someone told Kevin what Neil had done to his papers? Neil kind of wanted to know but, he also absolutely remembered how potent Kevin Day’s lungs were. 

The desk was cool on his forehead, which made Neil realise his skin was overheating. However, since he didn’t have to pretend anymore, Neil just wished hard for a quick getaway from his own body. All he wanted was to be a ghost for 15 minutes or something. 

“Take him to St. Mungo,” Wymack told Minyard. 

“Nope!” Neil drawled, head still down but a warning finger raising up high. “I’m not going to St. Mungo.” 

“Merlin’s pants, Josten, I swear that if you—” 

“Wymack,” Neil said, voice serious and almost un-slurred. Wymack stopped speaking and Neil raised his head briefly to look at him. “Trust me. I don’t need to go to St. Mungo.” 

Wymack let out a hesitant sigh after watching Neil for a few seconds, turning to Minyard after making his decision. 

“Go home,” Wymack told Minyard who, by the sounds of it, immediately started packing, without even listening to Wymack’s, “I’ll tell Dobson where you both are.” 

Neil raised his head when someone tapped his shoulder. Neil looked up at Minyard, who raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. Neil thought about frowning back at him, but his forehead felt too heavy to wrinkle at all. 

“Could you arrange to have someone come to see him at my place?” Minyard said. Neil thought about asking why Minyard didn’t send a message to his brother, but he couldn’t think straight. When he blinked, Minyard had moved to the side so he could pull Neil’s chair with a murmured spell. When there was enough space between Neil and the desk, Minyard used his hands to pull Neil upwards, propping him up with firm hands on his waist. Not that Neil needed it. He didn’t feel like he could even slouch. Neil felt like he was a teenager again, under his father’s watchful gaze, trying to prod Neil for more data — “Since he can’t be trusted with his own health, apparently.” 

“No problem,” Wymack said, covering Neil’s protests in the form of unintelligible mumbling. If Neil was already in the process of mumbling, things might have been a tad worse than Neil had thought. 

Oh well. Nothing to do—other than accompanying Minyard as he gave his first steps forward. 

At least Andrew had worked a little before Neil took him away from his responsibilities. They even had their lunch break, or something. Neil had _eaten._

Wymack got out of the way so Neil could be almost dragged through a very colourful and smelly universe. Neil knew that the Aurors must have been staring, but Neil was too disoriented to even glare at their directions. 

“Merlin’s beard, why must everything have colours,” Neil whined almost incomprehensibly as Minyard dragged him until they were outside the Ministry. Minyard did something with that Muggle rectangular contraption that Neil could never remember the name of—and that Matt kept insisting Neil should buy so they could send messages to each other, even though Neil was terrible at Muggle technologies. 

Not that much long after, they were both getting into a Muggle car. Neil could never get used to how much more comfortable they were when compared to carriages, but Neil caught himself fighting against his sleep. 

“Don’t sleep, Josten,” Minyard told him urgently. 

“Don’t worry, Minyard, this is not my first cocktail of Potions,” Neil slurred and felt Minyard stiffening beside him. Still, he kept talking. “Nothing truly awful will happen to me if I sleep…” 

Minyard grumbled something that sounded doubtful, but Neil couldn’t decipher it. He might have blacked out for a blink there. 

He sort of could feel the food he had eaten during their lunch creating legs on his stomach, beginning their plans to escape from Neil’s innards. Neil couldn’t possibly let moving food loose inside the moving Muggle vehicle. In an effort to stop the food from running away, Neil slumped on the back seat and didn’t take long to fall asleep. 

* * *

As the afternoon wore itself out, so did Neil’s grasp on reality. 

He wasn’t going insane, not particularly. He didn’t know exactly what he was saying,but he knew that he babbled a lot after getting out— _dragged_ out—of the Muggle car. Then he just felt even more sleepy. Lethargic. Just… inundated by the desire to sprawl anywhere, with no care for muscles or bones. 

Neil knew that Minyard most certainly dragged him up his stairs because Neil definitelydidn’t remember walking or waking up and Minyard had Muggle neighbours. No magic, then. Neil did wake up when he was deposited on Minyard’s bed though, and that was where he stayed while Minyard Accio’ed a chair to sit. Neil didn’t notice himself slipping away again, but he came back into consciousness briefly while the Mediwitch was around, talking to Minyard in a soft voice against Minyard’s harsher tone, but Neil couldn’t fight the lethargy any longer. 

It was one of the most common effects of different Potions being mixed, Neil knew, thanks to his past. He had slept a lotsometimes during his breaks from Hogwarts, although the House Elves constantly were ordered to wake him up—and, depending on who had ordered, the method of awakening varied greatly in a scale from painful to agonizing. 

However, it had been a long time since Neil was awakened by almost choking on a liquid being forced down his throat. For a second Neil didn’t know where he was, then he saw Minyard holding a vial to his side in the bed, looking everywhere at Neil’s face with the face of someone cataloguing how serious the coughing was. 

Neil rolled his eyes and tried to control his breathing at the same time that he tried to ignore the absolutely foul taste of whatever was making its way down Neil’s body. 

“Great sizzling dragon bogies, is this my death? Will I die?” Neil rasped out, trying to smile. “Was that poison you just slipped down my throat?” 

“It’s medicine,” Minyard said, quietly. 

“I was joking.” Neil let his weak smile die since it had done nothing to change Minyard’s serious face. “I imagine it went fine with the Mediwitch?” 

“Your body needs to process the potions on its own,” Andrew said, shrugging. “None of them was deadly, but the interaction of that many ingredients without knowing the exact quantities of each will probably cause an overwhelming lethargy and maybe…” 

“Yes, I am aware, thank you. You seem to have forgotten some very important lore from my past, apparently,” Neil waved a hand as if acknowledging the crowd, telling him how smart he was. Minyard just… watched him and Neil sort of rolled his eyes internally. If someone didn’t want to appreciate his humour… Whatever. “This is nothing my body isn’t used to doing. Processing, I mean. It’s been a while, but… it’s like flying on a broom, right?” 

Neil was finally able to cause a change on Minyard’s face. It went even more serious as he gave Neil a heavy gaze, but Minyard didn’t speak a single thing for a couple of heartbeats. Minyard offered the drink Neil hadn’t finished and, reluctantly, Neil took it. He almost gagged at the first gulp, because the taste was absolute rubbish. 

“Merlin’s balls.” Neil coughed twice, trying to get rid of the aftertaste. “That was _definitely_ the poison now, huh?” 

“Potion for Sustenance,” Andrew corrected dryly. “Since we don’t know how long you’re gonna be all… lethargic. It will keep your body fed for a while. I’ll give you more when you wake up again later.” 

“Can’t wait.” Neil sighed and looked at the ceiling. He could feel himself almost falling asleep again. Neil steeled his grasp on consciousness and ploughed through the sluggishness devouring his brain. “That’s much nicer than I’ve been treated in the past. However, since I won’t be around for too long and I don’t think I’m going to remember my confessions for a little while, I want to tell you that, sometimes, when the weather was bad and I simply couldn't see the Snitch, I'd watch you. On the field.” 

Neil took a deep breath and choked. At first, he thought he was choking on some remnants of the alleged Potion for Sustenance, but then Neil felt it. The fucking _itch_. 

“Oh shit,” he said, and then his mouth was moving. “I’d watch you because even while knowing that you didn't care about the game, you still were so good it was absolutely mesmerising.” 

At least Neil wasn’t forced to stay around and witness Minyard’s reaction. At _least_ that much dignity the bond allowed him to fucking have. Neil knew that there were words being spoken to him, but he had no idea what they meant or how to decipher them. 

He simply fell into a dreamless sleep again. 

* * *

He remembered nothing from his fourth day being Bonded to the great Andrew Minyard—and yes, their stay at St. Mungo counted as a day. 

Later, Minyard would inform him that he definitely woke up twice through that day—to drink the dreadful Potion of Sustenance and to tell his truth, but Neil couldn’t recall _any_ part of it. The same was true for his fifth day of being bound to Andrew Minyard, his second day of being bound to Andrew Minyard’s bed. 

Well… at least his fifth day was also a Saturday, and Andrew wasn’t on the schedule to work on weekends—although it wasn’t one of the advantages of the Bond, simply something that Minyard didn’t do. Ever. Neil received no explanations for it, but it served to give a little more weight to the rumours about favouritism. Despite all that, at least Neil didn’t have to feel guilty about making Andrew lose another day of work. At least one fucking good thing had to come out of this mess. 

Sundays in the Minyard’s humble abode were, apparently, incredibly lazy days. Taking into consideration that Neil didn’t fall asleep immediately after waking up _,_ he asked Minyard if they could change to the living room. Mostly because even if Neil was kind of getting lost in his sluggish thought every now and then as he watched the telly, he would’ve been much more bored out of his mind in bed. In the living room, at least, the telly was entertaining. 

Wizards should really start considering something similar instead of relying just on the radio for their entertainment. Neil wished for a second that he was smart enough to come up with something, but then he remembered he was rich and could pay for people to develop those things. 

“Can you remind me later to spend my money on something?” Neil asked Andrew as he helped him change into a clean shirt—which felt much better after staying in the same sweaty clothes for _days._

“On what?” 

“Magical box.” 

“Maybe no more magical boxes for a while?” Andrew’s voice sounded dry, but Neil raised his eyebrows and nodded because that was pure wisdom. 

Neil expected Minyard to levitate him to the living room, but instead, he witnessed Minyard Summoning the chair he used on his… comtuper? Computer? Something like that. The chair had wheels. Neil was still a little weak from lying in bed for so long and from the effect of the potions, but at least he could keep himself sort of sitting in the chair so Minyard could wheel him to the living room. 

The telly was on and running some kind of cooking show that Neil had to admit looked pretty, if not interesting at times. Neil had never had to worry about cooking, not even nowadays when he lived alone and with no House Elves because you could just hire one of the many catering wizarding companies and have meals delivered to your dining table—or, in Neil’s case, kitchen cabinet—at a specific time. 

Cooking still felt like Potion-making in the most deconstructed manner possible. The kind of cooking that was being done on the TV was much more elaborate than the pizza-making that Neil had witnessed, but it still wasn’t enough to make Neil find it distasteful or unpleasant. Taking into consideration how much he’d panic in Potions at Hogwarts, he expected a bigger reaction, but cooking looked like fun. 

Neil told Minyard that, who raised a single eyebrow. “Are you telling me that the Pureblood is interested in _Muggle cooking_?” 

“I wouldn’t tell you to go show this around to all the Sacred Twenty-Eight in order to get a large understanding of Pureblood taste,” Neil said, dryly. “But _this_ Pureblood likes it.” 

Minyard clicked his tongue. He said, “Neil, oh Neil…” which was enough to make Neil jostle a little in his seat when he realised that was the first time Minyard was saying his name. From the look on Minyard’s face, he seemed to notice that something had startled Neil. 

“Yes… Andrew?” Neil said, hesitantly. He was under the impression that they weren’t allowed to use each other’s given name, taking into consideration how… Andrew had never really addressed Neil as Neil. But he seemed completely unfazed, so Neil just… tried to keep his cool, while his brain just kept going “What happened?! When did this happen?” 

“Do you want to learn how to cook?” 

Neil tried to keep his eyes from widening too much. 

“Maybe,” Neil said in a small tentative voice. “After I get these potions out of my system, though.” 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Of course.” 

* * *

When Honesty Hour came, Neil kind of got a tiny unspoken clue about why Andrew seemed more comfortable with Neil just being… there. 

Neil sat in Andrew’s bed, already in his pyjamas, staring at the pillows laid side-by-side to his right and his sleeping bag’s current M.I.A. state. Neil knew he had been sleeping in the bed because he was sick, but he did not know that Andrew had been sleeping in the bed with him. 

Andrew Minyard. Who didn’t seem to like anyone invading his personal space, let someone invade his personal bed? While he still was in it? 

Neil made a face. That sounded weird. 

As Neil stared hard at the pillows though, Andrew finished stirring the Potion of Sustenance for Neil, passing the sludge without a single ounce of sympathy in his face. Neil drank it in sips with a grimace, but he almost choked when Andrew started talking and he understood what he was saying. 

“Since you’ve been the first to say your truths in the last few days, I’m going first today.” Andrew watched as Neil kept his mouth closed as he coughed, trying not to drench Andrew with the Potion he was currently choking on. “You're unapologetic about what you like and believe in. You are loud about it, and you clearly don’t care about how other people will see you and your opinions. It’s not what I expected from a Pureblood. It’s admirable.” 

Neil blinked at him for the longest time. That… hadn’t been honesty enrolled in an insult. That had been pure honesty. From Andrew Minyard. Towards him. 

What the _fuck_ happened in the two days he had been out? 

Neil felt much more present than he had been the entire day, and not because he thought his body had got rid of all the effects of the potions. He remembered that before he got sick, he was already feeling like he was owing something for Andrew, for how much more honest he had been. Andrew Minyard, the man who could barely speak without letting out at least one threat towards whoever was in his way, had just been _emotionally open_ to Neil. 

It made Neil feel like he couldn’t do less, or cop-out with a truth that was solely about Quidditch. 

“The fact that you had invitations to become a professional Quidditch player but still chose to become an Auror was inspiring to me,” Neil said slowly, thinking hard about how much of himself he was willing to give to make the balances even. _A lot_ , turns out to be the answer. “I knew that you would have been able to get into a team, even with the Daily Prophet scandal following you, but you didn’t. You had good grades and were good at something else, and you didn’t do what many people expected out of you. I remember how many people were betting that you would become unhinged and end up permanently in a St. Mungo’s bed, but… you showed them wrong. Now you’re one of the people who protect the public from unhinged criminals. You’re… commendable.” 

Andrew was just… sitting there. Not reacting at all to Neil’s verbosity. 

“Ahhh,” Neil said, slightly panicking as the silence kept growing longer. “Also, your cooking is amazing!!!” 

“... Thanks,” Andrew said and dragged the bed covers as he stood up so he could slip under them as quickly as possible. After Neil blinked at him and at the ground where his sleeping bag used to be, Andrew said, “Turn off the lights and go to your side. And try to snore less tonight.” 

“I can’t control snoring in my sleep, Andrew,” Neil said, heart pounding as he got up and turned off the lights. He didn’t want to use magic. Neil needed the few seconds to recompose himself from the absolute whiplash of emotions he was having to deal with. “Also, I don’t snore.” 

“I won’t be able to control my wand from reacting to my dreams of casting spells in anger,” Andrew said in the dark. “Who knows what your snores will inspire in me.” 

“Andrew, I don’t snore,” Neil hesitantly got under the covers and held his breath for a few seconds, releasing it when Andrew didn’t immediately kick him out of it. “Can you imagine what the Slytherin students would have done to me if I snored?” 

“Who’s to say they didn’t? You were sleeping, after all.” 

Neil just sighed and said, “I’ll try not to snore.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.” 

“I’ll smother you under your pillow, Neil, do not test me with your fake affectations.” 

Neil smiled and didn’t really mind that it took him forever to fall asleep. He had apparently slept for long enough and lost the only good bit of this entire fiasco. 

* * *

Neil could’ve asked Andrew what he’d told him while not entirely _there._

It had obviously been something big enough that it caused Andrew to not only take care of Neil physically _,_ but trust him with emotional baggage that Neil had never expected to be trusted with. 

Knowing that there was something that _Andrew_ admired about him was… a lot. 

Neil didn’t want to jeopardize that by admitting he didn’t remember something that might have caused it. Force Andrew to confess twice something that, possibly, had been hard to admit. 

So Neil kept his mouth shut and tried to not come up with theories. Whatever his brain could imagine wasn’t important, since what mattered was that Neil had got something advantageous without having to know what he’d done. 

It was the perfect sort of situation for a Slytherin. 

It also didn’t matter that Neil wanted to cradle that “advantage” and cherish it, because that wasn’t very Slytherin of him. But as long as Neil didn’t verbalise it? It felt fine. 

* * *

They woke up at the same time on Monday. Neil knew that because they were facing each other when they blinked awake and came into awareness. It felt a little… weird, but also vaguely _familiar_ for Neil. He wasn’t thoroughly wrapped in Andrew’s arms, but Neil had many awakenings with his mother in bed with him that went sort of like this. Just looking at another human who was trying to grasp their consciousness to start the day. 

It was definitely weirder in this context, but also… nicer, in a way. 

Andrew visibly didn’t like something in his face, but he also didn’t comment on it. He just got out of bed with a brusque movement and waited impatiently for Neil to sit down in the chair. 

Neil didn’t want to sit down in the chair, though. He was feeling fine already, after all. So after a brief staring contest with Andrew, he said, “Are we going out at the usual time?” 

“Going out,” Andrew deadpanned. 

“To work?” Neil sat up in bed. “It’s Monday.” 

“We’re not going to work today,” Andrew said slowly, clearly questioning Neil’s mental state. “You’re sick.” 

“I’m all betters,” Neil said cheekily and found the disgust in Andrew’s face amusing. What Neil didn’t expect was that Andrew would suddenly _throw his own wand at Neil_ , like it was a weapon itself instead of _the_ weapon. It was a great throw, for a Keeper. It made it incredibly obvious to Neil that he probably wasn’t 100%betters, because he could’ve caught the wand easily instead of letting it bounce onto his clavicle. 

He knew he could catch it. But his arm just… didn’t move as fast as Neil’s brain. 

The wand fell onto Neil’s lap after the point of it connected with Neil’s skin in a painful sting that throbbed almost immediately. Neil stared at the wand for a few seconds before picking it up and looking at Andrew with a raised eyebrow. 

“All betters?” Andrew asked, mockingly. 

“Well…” Neil cleared his throat and threw the wand back at Andrew, but not as if it was a weapon, because he had respect for wands, unlike Andrew. “What’s for breakfast?” 

* * *

The day passed much like their Sunday did, but since he wasn’t _as_ out of it as he had been in the other days, Neil could see all the tiny ways that Andrew was taking care of him. 

Neil’s side on the sofa was inundated by pillows that were the softest thing Neil had ever laid on—pillows he didn’t remember being there before his bout of Potion’s bed-riddance. Their meals were easy to digest, especially because Neil had to get used to chewing again, after drinking his last few meals. Neil could also realise that his body was _squeaky clean_ , unnaturally, but not uncomfortably. Meaning that Andrew had used medical cleaning spells on him instead of the common ones—the kind of spells that Mediwizards knew. 

Had Andrew asked that Mediwitch from days ago to teach him? Or did he research it on his own? 

Both options were far from what Neil had thought Andrew would ever do for him. And it was clear that Andrew didn’t want to get any thanks for it, but Neil was still grateful. 

So when Andrew wheeled him back to the bedroom, only because he didn’t believe Neil when he said he could walk. They had spent the entire day watching so much television and also quietly talking about not important stuff. 

Still, Neil knew he’d have to use his truth to be as thankful as he knew how. But, maybe, as much of a little shit as he also was. 

“Since today is my turn to be honest first, I want to tell you you’d make a great Mediwizard, just from how caring you can be,” Neil had said it seriously, but he couldn’t contain his smirk as he kept going. “But I can also see that you’d make a great husband.” 

Andrew, who had been in the process of brushing his teeth, seemed to have swallowed a bit of his paste, if his suppressed coughing was anything to go by. Neil just observed silently as Andrew spit the foam into his sink, and gave him his patent Murderous Eyes over on the mirror, not even bothering to look directly at Neil’s face to do it. 

No reply came other than that gaze though, so Neil let his smirk grow into a full-on grin. Even though he wanted to stay there and just annoyingly grin at Andrew, he had his joy taken away from him as Andrew closed the door to use the restroom. 

Neil should’ve expected that, but when Andrew opened up the door after flushing and washing his hand, he got surprisingly close to Neil’s face and said, in an even tone, “Ninety percent of the time, the very sight of you makes me want to use an Unforgivable.” 

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Neil said, laughing a little. “Pureblood dirty talking! I recognise that. Which one tempts you?” 

Andrew stared hard at Neil but didn’t answer as he walked to the bed, bumping their shoulders painfully enough that Neil had to wince and rub at the spot a little. 

He didn’t regret it, though. Andrew had said _ninety_ percent. It was enough to make Neil feel like things between them were a little more balanced once again. 

* * *

Andrew only had to take one look at Neil’s face when they woke up on Tuesday to sigh as he rolled to the other side, so he wouldn’t look at Neil, probably. He still informed Neil of what he wanted to know. 

“Yes,” Andrew said, voice muffled. “We’re going to work today.” 

Neil practically vibrated through their morning routine of getting ready, eating the breakfast that Andrew had cooked quicker than what was smart and offered to clean all the dishes himself magically—because Neil was a spoiled Pureblood but he had learnt some basic cleaning spells to live alone comfortably, of course. 

Also, if he let Andrew do it, he would have washed them all by hand. And Neil wanted to end this quickly so he could go out into the fucking world once again. 

After washing all the dishes, there wasn’t really anything Andrew could claim to keep them in the flat. He at least seemed to pity Neil somewhat, because he could’ve said he wouldn’t go and there was nothing Neil could do to make him leave. 

Well. Nothing legal. 

Andrew, however, just… sighed as he watched Neil practically vibrating and moved to the door. Their walk to the Ministry was pleasant. For once, the weather in London wasn’t all grey and gloomy. There was a burst of actual nice sunshine trying to warm up the entire city and mostly making Neil even more excited about walking around. 

Both Neil and Andrew were a bit hyper vigilant all the way they walked to get inside Andrew’s office, which was something that didn’t go away even after they closed the door and Andrew sat down with a pile of files. They just didn’t want a repeat of the last time they didn’t pay attention and, thankfully, no potions were spilt over anyone. 

Neil tried to calm himself down now that they were relatively safe, since he wasn’t there to _annoy_ Andrew to the point of committing murder. That was what made Neil reach for the pocket in his robes where he had remembered to put one of the books that Matt had given him, Circe knew why since Neil wasn’t really a reader. It was a Muggle book about a sport that was subpar solely because it wasn’t _Quidditch._

It was still enough to distract Neil until Wymack came knocking on the door a little before lunchtime. 

“So you’re back,” Wymack said gruffly when Andrew gave him permission to open the door. 

“Alive and kicking!” Neil’s smile was just a tadmocking. 

“I told you not to fight against one another, so I really fucking hope there was no goddamn _kicking_.” Wymack scowled a little, then turned to Andrew. “I was in a meeting with Dobson. She wants to talk to you about your case. Something about the Ingredients of the recipe the Potioneer was doing felt off.” 

Andrew immediately rose from his chair, and Neil scurried to follow him out. Wymack only grunted as a goodbye and didn’t wait for any kind of acknowledgement as he walked out to the Hit Wizard headquarters. 

Neil couldn’t say it surprised him at all. 

To get to Dobson’s office, they had to pass through every fucking single Auror’s office. Most of them were present in their respective cubicles and a good number of them, unlike Andrew, apparently had a considerable aversion towards closing their fucking doors. 

A particularly large Auror, who obviously didn’t suffer the same vertical problems that both Neil and Andrew had, loomed over them as they passed in front of his door. The Auror looked first at Andrew and then Neil, and he hummed noncommittally. 

“Wow, you’re both still alive? I thought that by now one of you would have snapped under the pressure of your murderous habits.” 

Andrew continued walking, but Neil stopped. Andrew gave a few other steps but, when he didn’t hear Neil accompanying him, he sighed and turned around, one eyebrow raised. 

Neil completely ignored Andrew in favour of gazing at the Auror in front of him as coldly as he knew how. “Someone doesn’t have a good memory or good reading comprehension,” he commented, sounding patronizing—and meaning it. “Neither Andrew nor I have ever killed anybody.” 

“Maybe you didn’t, but he did.” 

“He went on trial. He was acquitted.” 

“I don’t believe it.” 

“Oh,” Neil said, feigning surprise. “You don’t believe in our justice system? You? The person who should enforce the laws on the _populi_?” 

“Who the fuck is that?” The Auror sounded genuinely confused but quickly scowled. “Doesn’t matter. That gnome-sized asshole is known for being violent. I’m just surprised you’re still alive after the fight in the office and him forcing Runcorn to dump a bunch of potions on top of you. Minyard wasn’t even trying to be subtle with that. He should be locked up in Azkaban or Kissed.” 

“You sure are not as clever as you seem to think you are,” Neil looked him up and down, making sure that his expression makes it clear that he doesn’t think the Auror is clever at all. “Because you admit you think Andrew is a murderer but you still stand here, taunting him. Do you want to die or something of the sort?” 

“Why would he kill me? I’ve done nothing to him.” 

“You just said what you think should have happened to him,” Neil took a step closer to him because, at this point, they had attracted a bit of a crowd. 

“Neil…” Andrew warned. Neil just kept on ignoring him. 

“You know, Andrew doesn’t really care about this, but it’s really not smart of you to go around saying that he’s a murderer and telling people who have to live with him that he’s going to kill them,” Neil whispered and watched with glee as the Auror bent over a little bit to listen to him better. “Makes one wonder what you would do so you wouldn't have to work with him anymore. So you could finally see him behind bars or soulless. Makes you think you want to catch…” 

Neil let his voice go soft and almost inaudible, and the Auror bent down a little more. 

“Catch what?” The Auror said, mockingly. 

“These fists,” Neil answered and punched the guy on the dick and then on his neck, making him choke a little. The Auror doubled over, but Neil was already walking towards Andrew, his posture as haughty as he knew how to make it, and then kept walking to Dobson’s office. 

“Was that necessary?” Andrew asked lowly in a bored voice. 

“I can’t fight _you_.” Neil snorted a little as he heard the Auror’s voice finally stop groaning to yell at him. Neil just didn’t care at all to even pay attention to what he was saying. “At least I got to punch some dick.” 

“Literally and figuratively.” 

Neil just grinned. 

* * *

Dobson wasn’t _happy_ when her door rattled in the middle of talking with Andrew, but when Neil explained what had happened, she sighed. 

“Physical violence is not permitted in the headquarters, Mr Josten.” 

“I dare you to find evidence in his body.” 

“You do realise we’re wizards, right? And that we can extract memories?” 

“Well, then I’d advise you to extract the part of the memory where he slanders and besmirch Andrew’s name and reputation.” 

And that was all that happened. 

Favouritism had its perks for those around Andrew Minyard, which was great, in Neil’s opinion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Do you want to read a little bit that I cut from the part where Neil is almost back to himself on that Saturday?  
>   
> “He almost wanted to ask Andrew what he did with his… bodily functions, but by the time Neil was able to stay awake for longer on Sunday, it felt… inappropriate, to say the least. Especially because _Minyard_ himself would have to take care of his own bodily functions as well, so did he just levitate Neil’s body to the loo? Did he Vanish their pee inside the bladder, even though that was sort of dangerous? So, for once in his life, Neil Josten just… shut up.”  
>   
> You’re welcome :3  
>   
> That being said, I have some… well. Good news/bad news/good news/bad news type of situation. I’ve had some eye issues since last year and I had surgery in January, which sadly didn’t get rid of my problem. So I’m going to have to go through it again! That’s good news (for me). The bad news is that I can’t guarantee the next instalment will be edited and posted next week. I’ll be at the mercy of my healing eye. To close it with a happy note, I originally intended for both Parts 3 and 4 to be posted if not together, at least much closer together than the week it took me to edit this monster. So if everything goes smoothly, you might get a double update! I’ll be active on my twitter probably if you want to know what’s gonna happen.  
>   
> Anyway, tl;dr: eye bad, might not have update next week, might have double update. We gotta wait! Please, wish me luck on my surgery!  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their second week together begins, and Neil has a hard time acknowledging that, unfortunately, he has feelings. That sometimes needed to be dealt with. Also, their Bond comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  I know, it has been so long. I don’t know how many of you read my notes on the last chapter but, although my eye surgery had some complications, I’m healing fine!  
>   
> I have no warnings about this chapter, I don’t think. If you do think I need to add some, please tell me!  
>   
> (I do thank [Gerifalte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerifalte) for reading over this chapter when I lost my motivation to work on it. Thank you so much, ita!!!! 🥺)  
> 

Andrew didn’t really make any other comment about the whole dick-punching situation, not even later. Neil didn’t expect anything different; he had years of witnessing Andrew not defending himself and not caring about anyone who tried to stand up for him. Andrew’s _modus operandi_ revolved around finishing fights that other people started with him, or defending his personal space and also the personal space of “his” people. He was an instigator, but he wasn’t the wizard who threw the first spell—or punch. 

It was satisfying for Neil to make one of his childhood fantasies come to fruition. 

Dobson did a throwaway comment about how she would have to inform Neil’s supervisor about the situation, and that Neil would probably hear from Wymack about his punishment, but… It didn’t worry Neil. It wasn’t like Wymack would punish him that harshly, even if the Auror issued a formal complaint about Neil—which they already knew he wouldn’t. Dobson had opened the door to her office after more of the angry rattling, and the wizard Neil had punched wheezed out that he wouldn’t be filling up the form that Dobson offered. 

Neil would be perfectly fine. 

Out of respect, Neil tried to mentally check himself out while he stood as far away from Dobson and Andrew as the tiny offices of the DMLE allowed. They hadn’t even bothered to put up a Silencing Charm before talking about Andrew’s and Kevin’s investigation. Kevin apparently sent a new report with info on their case, and the Unspeakables had sent a comprehensive list of all the ingredients they had found in the victim’s cauldron—and that was when Neil tried his best to not pay attention. Not only because it was an ongoing investigation but also because it involved potions. Neil never knew what would make him go back to his father’s basement, to one of his torture nightmares. 

The solution Neil found to make sure he wasn’t paying attention was to waste his time basking in the memory of punching the arsehole Auror. He got so caught up in the glory of it, he kind of forgot that not every Auror would agree with him that the arsehole deserved it, especially since Andrew’s coworkers didn’t exactly love him. 

When Andrew and Dobson finished their discussion about what path Andrew could follow, Neil had to deal with a bit of staring from the other Aurors. It was surprising for him that most of the stares were disapproving and angry—Renee was the only one of the disapproving sort that also looked impossibly fond at Neil, who could just shrug at her. 

Neil couldn’t be unreasonable, though. He understood that their feelings for Andrew probably coloured their judgment, their feelings towards Neil helping to pull their opinion too. 

It was the outsider factor; Neil didn’t belong there, so there was no leeway for inappropriate behaviour, especially against one of their own. Just because Neil could rationalise it didn’t mean that he agreed with it. Therefore, if one of them came to him, either to complain or to confront, Neil was more than ready to tell them to stick it. 

Unfortunately for Neil’s boiling nerves, the rest of their workday had absolutely nothing fun happening. Neil had to entertain himself as Andrew pulled tomes and tomes of Potions ingredients, the comprehensive list that the Unspeakables had sent and, lastly, a logbook that looked uncomfortably similar to the ones Neil had to sign in the name of his father when he forced Neil to buy or pick up Potion ingredients for him. 

Neil was glad when Andrew’s shift was finally over. They didn’t cross paths with anybody looking for a fight on their way out, which was just sad. However, as soon as they arrived at Andrew’s flat, there was a brief letter attached to a fidgeting owl that waited impatiently for them at the windowsill. 

As soon as they opened the window, the owl flew straight to stand on top of Andrew’s owl cage, waiting for her treat. She didn’t wait for a reply after getting what she wanted. Neil didn’t know why Matt never let his owl wait for a reply after giving Neil his letter—it wasn’t like Matthew had that many people to send owls to after work—but whatever. Neil would help Andrew’s owls by stretching her wings, since it didn’t appear like Andrew sent letters to anyone. 

(Neil had heard the post-Hogwarts gossip about Andrew and his twin brother—the strain of the trial, Aaron’s mourning and the consensus that he agreed with people that accused Andrew of killing their mother. Andrew’s cousin being torn between them both, not knowing who to side with. In the end, Andrew decided for them and moved away to attend the intensive Auror training. Aaron started on his Healer training—and thankfully was never assigned to treat Neil’s many work-related wounds. When he was younger, still at Hogwarts, Neil had kept close tabs on Andrew. Then he got into his own training, and his head had no space for his obsession with Andrew’s personal problems. Neil had never heard rumours related to Andrew and Aaron after school, so he had no idea how close they were. However, he had been in Andrew’s flat for two weeks already, and no communication had arrived from them—or anyone else.) 

(Neil wouldn’t pry.) 

(But he wondered.) 

In his letter, Matt wanted to know “DEETS” about his fight. Again, for betting purposes. Neil wished he could look at Matt and roll his eyes, instead of writing he’d done it. It didn’t carry the same… punch. 

Still, since this was basically the longest stretch of time Neil had ever gone without even seeing his friends since their school graduation, he indulged Matt and spent some time crafting the letter to be as truthfully as possible. The potion spilling accident, the three days of nothingness, the rude assumptions feeding the fire of hatred for Andrew in the Aurors’ headquarters, most of it—but Neil couldn’t bring himself to talk about his feelings over the whole situation. 

Mostly because Neil had been trying to ignore how confused he was at his own behaviour. Neil had picked up the fight and turned it physical—something he avoided doing. Neil had used the excuse that he couldn’t fight or spar against Andrew—or go for a run which were the two coping mechanisms Neil had to deal with feeling overwhelmed, and he doubted that Andrew would voluntarily exercise with him—but if Neil had to be honest with himself… 

It was because he had been angry on Andrew’s behalf. He hadn’t thought his actions through, instead reacting to the bubbling of bitter furiousness that had incensed him. It only took three days of no memories, a plain but puzzling breakthrough in their relationship, for Neil to snap and forget his usual conduct. 

Neil could reflect on it later, to dissect his own intentions. But he didn’t need to tell Matt something that he didn’t understand himself yet, and that he knew would probably get distorted in some way. If Matt could read between the lines of Neil’s bland and not flourished language, he could also wait until Neil could invite him after work again to try to pry the full story from Neil. 

Andrew called him for dinner not that long after Neil finished writing his letter. It baffled Neil that he felt a little disappointed about not being there to watch Andrew cook something. Neil couldn’t even name the dish, even though he could identify a few ingredients—the rice that looked dangerously red, the pieces of chicken that looked perfect even drowning in whatever sauce Andrew had coupled together. The broccoli that Neil tried not to wrinkle his nose towards. The little squares that looked like potatoes. Neil couldn’t name it, but it looked appetising and smelt exquisite, and that was what mattered. 

Neil didn’t even bother to ask Andrew what was the name of the dish. He just ate it as silently and neatly as he could, though the way Andrew was watching him reminded Neil a lot of how Dan watched him throughout Hogwarts—waiting for when he inevitably choked so she could get up and help him. Neil tried to slow down, especially because it was spicy, but he couldn’t. He also had absolutely no idea how he would go back to cater food and takeout after their time was over. Neil honestly couldn’t say he cared about the taste of food, but Andrew’s cooking… agreed with his guts, in a way Neil wasn’t used to. They ate in silence as Neil had a quiet mental breakdown trying to understand it, but failing the machinations behind it. 

Well, mostly in silence. Andrew was quiet while Neil kept occasionally asking if Andrew knew how to cook this dish or that in the Muggle way. All the dishes Neil had seen on Matt’s movies or that he had heard his friends mentioning, and also some things that had interested Neil in their last Cooking Show Watching Extravaganza. 

Andrew didn’t seem all that bothered. He kept eating as he grunted the appropriate answers in Neil’s directions. The marvellous part was that Neil could identify what each of his grunts meant, even though the variation was subtle: the confirming grunt, the denying one, the confused and the “Give Me More Details” grunt. When Andrew said that he knew how to cook a proper Sunday roast, Neil almost felt himself drool before he took control of his mouth and closed it. Andrew watched him and Neil had the distinct impression Andrew was laughing internally, but Neil didn’t care. Andrew knew how to cook, and he had told Neil he would teach him after Neil recovered from the Potions’ accident. 

At the end of the meal, Neil washed the dishes with magic—on his own, which was fair since Andrew had cooked alone. Neil finished much quicker than Andrew had in the other nights, mostly because Andrew wasn’t forcing him to do it the Muggle way. Neil tried but failed to not look smug at his speed, making Andrew roll his eyes at him. 

As they sat in front of the telly, they tried to find the position to accommodate their bellies full of food—and, in Andrew’s case, Twa—cats, two unnamed cats resting on top of said belly. For a second he thought Andrew would leave the telly on the news, but Andrew found a competitive cooking program and Neil automatically adjusted himself, knowing that Andrew wouldn’t change it. 

He was right. They watched it in companionable silence until late at night, and Neil couldn’t help but think about their first few days together, when they were at each other’s throats. Before the sick days, whatever mysteries had happened in them. Their peaceful coexistence felt like Neil finally knew what it meant to accomplish something during one of his breaks from work, even though he hadn’t really done anything in particular. 

Mostly, he thought it was just the realisation that, even after all their beginning clashes, Andrew understood how to negotiate with Neil almost right away. Neil loved his friends, but they were considerably overwhelming and loud at times. With Andrew, he could enjoy silences, he could say something about his past and not receive a single pitying look. With a jolt, Neil realised that he enjoyed being paired with Andrew because he felt like he could be trusted—and was, until some point, trusted back. 

To say that it startled Neil when Andrew turned to him out of nowhere and said, “I attended every single Slytherin match not because Kevin was playing. Whenever you didn’t get the Snitch and the Slytherins lost, you’d stand up for yourself and not let Kevin’s escalate into his usual obsessed bullshit. Not only you were mildly entertaining, but that you could be that obsessed with Kevin and his playing but still have the level-headedness to not let him steamroll over you and your teammates was the reason I told Kevin he should name you as the next Captain.” 

Neil’s eyes widened as his brain tried to process both what was suddenly happening in the broader context and also the context of the confession itself. Andrew’s chosen confession for that night was about _Quidditch_? Neil could understand Andrew attending their matches to watch Neil be his little antagonising self (Andrew, The Instigator), but Andrew had recommended Neil as Captain of the Quidditch team? 

Neil didn’t know what to do for a few seconds. All the thinking Neil had done until that point about Andrew completely flew away from him as he faced that confession with absolute bafflement. It wasn’t anything like what Neil had received before, and also nothing like what Neil himself had planned to talk about. For once, Neil would not talk about Quidditch, but about Andrew’s cooking abilities. Something about how Andrew reminded Neil that not everything needs magic to get done, and maybe some teasing on it. Andrew had looked interesting when Neil had made the “husband” comment, so why couldn’t Neil tug metaphorically on Andrew’s robes at the same time that he complimented him? 

Now Neil’s brain had to scramble to come up with something equal. 

“Uh… I. Well. Thank you for recommending me to Kevin. That’s...” Neil hesitated, but he seriously couldn’t think of anything to say to that. His brain hadn’t fully absorbed it yet that Andrew was the reason Neil was able to make incredible Quidditch memories. “Yes. Such… an honour. About Quidditch, I’ve got to say that… I was there in your last year watching you help train the next Keeper for the Hufflepuffs. Erm, probably for the first six meetings or so. I remember Ms Cross was deadly afraid of the balls and… my plan had been to go there and tamper with it a little—nothing major! Just a prank, really—I don’t know I was a tosser—but just watching you both made me give up on those plans. She looked so excited and you…” Neil thought about how Andrew had gently coached Robin Cross—another American student—into the art of flying and being a Keeper, and Neil… yeah. He could admire Andrew’s perfect flying form and amazing Keeper skills. “Also, you can say whatever you want, but I don’t entirely believe that you hated Quidditch as much as you said you did. Nobody that good at playing and teaching it could actually hate it that much.” 

“You can hate things and be good at them,” Andrew argued, completely ignoring what Neil had just said, but that was fine. Neil still hadn’t fully moved on of what Andrew himself had said, so he couldn’t formulate anything witty to say. 

Unfortunately, those words were enough to stop the chaos inside Neil’s head. Neil knew that Andrew hadn’t meant for those words to take a dark turn, but the reality was that all Neil’s cheerful excitement went downhill. Andrew might not know it, had absolutely no way of knowing it, but he had just quoted Neil’s mother. 

Neil couldn’t stop his thoughts about himself, living in a mess of a household, trying to survive. He thought about his father, his mother, and how Neil had always tried to at least be minimally good at whatever his father asked, so he wouldn’t be punished with something worse. How his mother had always said, “Don’t be exceptional at anything, just mildly competent,” and all the variants in between. 

Neil tried desperately to hang onto the cheer of knowing that Andrew attended some Quidditch matches essentially because of him, but he had to simply sigh in the end. It was impossible to free himself of the gloominess, since Andrew was correct. Neil didn’t know what had motivated Andrew to join the Quidditch team, but something must have done it. However, with how dark Neil’s thoughts were, he didn’t want to ask. Especially since, even though he knew he had some of Andrew’s trust, he couldn’t quantify it for sure. 

Quietly, Neil resigned himself to saying, “Yes, I agree.” Andrew’s head snapped back to stare at Neil’s, probably because of his soft voice. Andrew looked at him for a few moments before turning away from whatever was in Neil’s face, jaw clenched. Neil couldn’t let their night end in that tone, though. “But do you mean to tell me you’re the kind of person to hold on to fond memories of something you hated?” 

“I always remember everything.” Andrew’s voice was as quiet as Neil’s had been. Admitting that the mood was probably destroyed, Neil bit his own lip but didn’t break the silence that fell over them, especially awkward after Andrew got up and turned the telly off. It was late, and maybe that was why neither of them spoke again for the rest of the night. 

* * *

Unfortunately, the sudden appearance of such a heavy theme on what had been a lighthearted convo meant that both of them woke up in the middle of the night because of nightmares. 

_At least our throats are not itchy_ , Neil thought as he tried to control his breathing that was rapidly devolving into hyperventilation. His throat definitely hurt, but it was mostly to do with the fact that he was holding back tears as his nightmare played again and again in his mind—even though calling it a nightmare was, technically, wrong. It was both a nightmare and a memory he always tried to repress. 

Neil usually called it the Crucio Night. Neil’s father had become more and more unhinged as the years went by, and he reached a point where he had stopped experimenting only with potions. The Crucio Night was one of the last straws for Neil’s mother, the final threshold, inspiring her to seek a getaway from it. Neil’s father had tried to prove that Neil was weak, too weak to even survive being cursed for a respectable amount of times, and Neil found himself left at the mercy of his father’s lackeys as his mother watched from the sideline, with an impassive, cold look on her face. 

And Neil… 

Well, he tried not to think about that night at all, if possible. 

At least when Andrew had jumped away from the bed, he had still stayed within the 5 metres range. Andrew looked thoroughly shaken by his own nightmare, though, fists in twin balls by his sides. Gratefully, Andrew hadn’t automatically obliterated Neil’s body with jinxes and curses just from waking up next to him, although Neil had seen Andrew’s hand twitching towards his wand. 

Neil heard Andrew whispering something too low for him to actually listen—not that Neil could with the rushing of his own blood thundering on. After a few minutes of silence, Andrew murmured another something, but that one Neil could recognise the pattern, even on a murmur. After seconds, there was a glass full of water being pushed into Neil’s field of vision slowly by Andrew’s unsteady hands. 

“Thank you,” Neil rasped out, taking the glass and drinking it in two seconds flat, Andrew drinking from his own cup in a much more sedated pace. The water had its usual stale taste from being conjured—or rather, the taste Neil had always identified in it, but nobody else seemed to be able to. Neil himself could only taste it after Fiendfyre Night. 

It was unsettling how Neil didn’t need to think about that particular night to be plagued by it. Crucio night had to be induced upon Neil for him to think about it, but Fiendfyre Night was always… there, onto his skin. Crawling underneath. 

Neil’s skin still held onto weird little things, reminders that would always throw Neil back into the past. Neil tried to think back towards Crucio night, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t a matter of thinking about it anymore, but reliving it with his senses. Could a person have too much trauma that parts of it ended up stored elsewhere in the body? Neil certainly felt like that was the only way to deal with his past sometimes, but it led to his taste hijacking his mind. 

“Sorry,” Neil told Andrew when he had to fill the cup for Neil again. Andrew didn’t reply to him, but the look he gave Neil made it clear he didn’t want any apologies, and he would react more strongly if Neil kept going. 

Neil almost smiled at that, but he didn’t have the energy or emotional capacity for that yet. As soon as his breathing had stopped stuttering out like an old clock, they both laid back down. Neil cast a Tempus and regretfully found out it was only 04:36 in the fucking morning. Neil knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. 

In the end, neither of them could. 

* * *

Neil could admit that he was, unfortunately, a bit… out of touch with the actual world the next day. 

It was just his brain not being able to come out of Crucio night and his body being stuck on a loop of reliving flames licking at his skin. It didn’t matter what Neil tried to think about to distract himself. In a desperate attempt to interact like a normal human, he tried to rant to Andrew about the book he had been reading (it was about the story of an impossible team of a Muggle sport called Exy, whatever that was because the book didn’t fucking explain it), but eventually, Neil stopped because he could hear it in his voice: he sounded unwell. More than unwell, almost unhinged. 

Andrew didn’t avoid his gaze—or Neil himself, for that matter—but some Aurors also avoided them as they passed by on their arrival. They looked at Neil like he was dangerous, a giant card of Exploding Snap ready to spontaneously burst all over them. It seemed like an overreaction for what had happened yesterday, so it probably had something to do with his current state—again, Neil doubted he was being subtly unhinged. There was nothing Neil could actively do to stop the aftershocks of the nightmares rattling him up from the inside out. 

As soon as they were in Andrew’s office, the door firmly closed, Neil could relax just a smidge. He spent his morning watching Andrew calmly going through the Ingredients book—and, as he watched, Neil couldn’t help but remember Andrew’s commentary about how he didn’t forget anything. It was probably handy, Neil thought, as Andrew glanced over pages and pages of Ingredients he would need to compare to something else later, but also: Neil couldn’t see Andrew thinking that that was anything other than useless knowledge. 

Andrew occasionally looked up to check on Neil—briefly and without expectations. He used up enough time to certify Neil wasn’t worse, or that was what Neil could assume from his scanning gaze, and then he would go back to his reading. It warmed Neil, that silent alertness. It wasn’t enough to extinguish the waves still crashing over Neil’s skin, but it was incredibly soothing. 

For lunch, Andrew ordered food for them, delivered straight to his office. 

It was Sunday’s roast—which made Neil think about yesterday’s supper as he watched Andrew digging into his own food silently. Neil couldn’t help but fight something overwhelming inside of him, and he tried to eat slowly to not upset the wild ride his stomach was going through. 

Neil didn’t want to leave the gesture unmentioned. It didn’t feel proper, even if neither of his parents had ever bothered to lecture him about the appropriate way to reply to such… generosity. 

It wasn’t like Neil needed his parents’ guidance for that, anyway. Not even his friends’, although they had been generous towards Neil often. However, Neil couldn’t remember the last time he felt coddled after a bad night, those moments of being overly aware of how tense his friends were around him, waiting for him to let them help him, never understanding that he just needed to ride the wave. 

Andrew didn’t even need any discouragement in the form of glares. He just… knew to leave Neil alone with his own mind, but not alone physically. It was almost enough to make Neil smile. His shaken mental state was nowhere near stable, but Neil felt much more peaceful. The day felt less long. 

When they travelled back to Andrew’s flat after the end of his shift, Neil helped Andrew with slicing vegetables in the Muggle way. He honestly had thought he would get annoyed at it, when Andrew had slapped his hand as it reached for his wand—not violently, the absolutely most gentle slap on the wrist Neil had ever gotten—but the repetitive motions were calming. It reminded Neil of the mindless rhythm of preparing ingredients for potions, but with a good twist. Andrew’s presence was all that Neil’s brain needed to not make any more damaging connections. 

Andrew got the oil ready for the stir-fry he had told Neil he would cook. Neil only watched, letting himself be further soothed by the smell of spices as Andrew did his ordinary magic of making ingredients turn into a dish on a frying pan. After Andrew finished, Neil moved to wash the dishes immediately because why wait?, but Andrew dragged him towards the table to eat. Neil didn’t fight against it. They ate in silence again and, by the end, Neil was almost back to his usual self, albeit feeling more than tenfold tired. 

There would be no telly for Neil without falling asleep in front of it, but that was fine. Andrew seemed to understand it just by watching Neil fail almost three times on using cleaning spells to do the dishes. It was a good thing that they would go to bed early because, at the end of the day, both of them had had an early rise—too early, one might say. 

Both cats were already in bed when they entered the room after dinner. Teeth brushed, toilet used, and they were lying in bed in the darkroom, silently not looking at each other. Neil didn’t even have it in himself to nervously worry about the fact that he had no idea what he was going to confess, because he had gone through the day basically brainless. 

Andrew sighed. “If I had a Time-Turner and it wouldn’t cause permanent damage to our timeline, I think I would like to use it to go back in the past and kill your father when you were little. When you were all over the Prophet, I remember that I thought you deserved a better childhood than the one you’ve got.” 

Neil was, honestly, touched. It took his brain almost three seconds to come up with an unfunny joke that Andrew had some sort of obsession with the killing of one’s parents, but at least Neil was smart enough to keep that bit of cruelty to himself. Instead, Neil added, “Also, fewer Muggles and Muggleborns would’ve suffered,” and took Andrew’s silence as agreement. 

However, after a while, Neil had to sigh. “You can’t be everybody’s hero, Andrew, but I appreciate the sentiment. I wish someone had stopped him sooner, but… at least they caught him, eventually.” 

Andrew didn’t say anything, and Neil… Well. He had to finally face his choices of either leaving the Bond to find something for him to say, or coming up with something quick. It wasn’t like he didn’t have any inspiration, knowing how much it definitely cost Andrew to admit even between the lines that he cared about someone who wasn’t his family. For the second night in a role, Neil realised that he couldn’t simply talk about Andrew’s cooking or Quidditch. It wouldn’t be a fair trade. 

He had something to say about Andrew’s protectiveness, though. 

“I’ve always liked how you protected those you love fiercely, and you don’t mind if that sometimes means that you act in ways that most people would deem… unacceptable. However, it always bothered me that you cannot extend the same fierceness towards yourself. Whenever you didn’t defend yourself during your last year at Hogwarts, or your _spineless brother_ didn’t defend you, all I wanted to do was... shake both of you, but mostly him. You deserved to be protected too. If I had a Time Turner, I think I would go back to Hogwarts and… And...” 

“And what?” Andrew’s voice was rough, in a way that Neil had never heard. “Made yourself a target? Destroy all the rumors that you hated me?” 

“I would’ve at least tried to approach you. To sympathise.” 

“It wouldn’t have been welcomed, and you know it.” 

The thing was that Neil did indeed know it, but now that he was here, feeling like _this_ mostly because of how Andrew had quietly understood him and allowed him to just be, Neil wanted to repay him somehow. Even if it was by wishing he had done something in the past, or tried to. Neil had been a stubborn teenager, and Andrew had already built a tolerance to Neil. They probably wouldn’t have fought, independently of how Neil decided to do it. Besides the fact that Andrew didn’t start fights, his unshakable attitude over Neil’s particular method of communication had always been charming to Neil, definitely. They could’ve had _this_ much earlier—the easy friendship. The unspoken understanding of one another would have— 

Wait. 

Charming? 

* * *

For a throwaway thought, that single word sure was enough to keep Neil awake, far longer than Neil thought it had any right to. Eventually, he fell asleep from exhaustion, though in the next day he couldn’t help but hate himself as he thought about finding someone who could create a brain-removal spell. He wanted to _not think,_ just for a single day. That wasn’t much to ask, was it? 

To compensate for his obsessing over an unimportant thought, Neil had to spend a second morning bothering Andrew with his non-stop talking. This time his chosen subject was Quidditch, and he spewed facts about the next season to Andrew for the entirety of their morning and through a sizable portion of their lunchtime. 

Neil could see Andrew's puzzled look, clearly confused by whatever had caused this behaviour this time around. It was on a similar level of unbalance as yesterday, but a unique brand, without rhyme or reason if you didn’t have access to Neil’s internal monologue—which Andrew didn’t. 

At the same time, Neil could see that he was fraying the protective coating of Andrew’s incredibly numb nerves connected to his patience. After Andrew broke the quill he had been holding, Neil tried to dial it back, not only to keep all his limbs but because he remembered their truce. He decided to let silence reign over the rest of their lunch. 

For a second, Neil considered Stupefying himself, but that would definitely not be subtle. 

Neil truly considered it a good thing when they arrived back from Andrew’s visit to the archives and they crossed paths with the arsehole Auror. 

Neil knew that his smile was what made the arsehole clench his fists. From the look of the Aurors who were around, everybody knew what was about to happen but… How could Neil not smile, though? It would be a perfect distraction, and he might even punch someone again at the same time that he would just mildly inconvenience Andrew. With that logic in mind, Neil gave one step in the man’s direction, smile widening. 

Then he could not walk forward, because there was a hand holding the back of his robes. 

“Do not wrinkle my robes,” Neil snapped, although he meant none of the annoyance in his voice and Andrew knew it. 

“Oh, your highness, I wouldn’t _dare_ to wrinkle your important garb,” Andrew had the worst British accent possible and Neil wrinkled his nose at him with distaste as Andrew pulled him towards his office. 

“You’re not funny,” Neil said, shooting a quick look towards the arsehole who watched them leave with smoke almost blowing out of his nose. He looked pathetically relieved, though, which brightened Neil a little. Then Neil turned to Andrew, still smiling. “Unless you’re calling me ‘your highness’ because I’m taller?” 

The face of the Aurors who were near enough to hear him turned instantly horrified, and Neil couldn’t help but laugh as Andrew’s hand twisted more firmly on the fabric of his back—which was definitely going to wrinkle it—and dragged Neil faster to his office. 

Neil could only stop himself from descending into further madness by creating three thousand different scenarios where he picked a fight with the arsehole. Unfortunately, he knew he was hanging on by a thread, which… wasn’t good. 

It was just one word. Neil didn’t even know what he had meant when he called Andrew charming, and— 

Neil visualised himself punching the arsehole and sighed. 

Andrew looked at him wearily, but said nothing. 

* * *

Neil had already reminded himself about their truce, but he could only fantasise about antagonising the arsehole for so long, before he got lost in his own brain sauce. He tried to think about the approaching Quidditch season, even tried to think about cooking, but the thing he wanted was to make himself small and unnoticeable for Andrew. 

This… conundrum, or whatever it was, had come out of nowhere, and Neil honestly didn’t need this kind of stress in his life. He knew what being obsessed with Andrew was like, and this felt different. Calling someone “charming” could be innocuous, Neil’s friends did it all the time, but it didn’t feel like the same kind of— 

Andrew growled, loud enough that it startled Neil into dropping the Exy book on the table with a loud _thump._

“Let. Me. Work,” Andrew snarled, and it took a while for Neil to realise that, although he’d thought he’d been quiet, he was actually grumbling in a low tone of voice. 

Neil buried his face in his arms on top of the table and, after a few seconds, Andrew went back to work. 

Sighing, Neil tried not to think about the defeated undertone Andrew had had in his voice, but it kept making Neil cringe with shame—something surprising for someone so imperturbable like him. 

Out of respect and to muffle the mess of feelings inside of him, Neil sat through the rest of Andrew’s office hours with his head buried firmly in his arm. That way, he wouldn’t stress about anything specific and, after a few moments of suffering, he was blessed with a nap—which was more than welcomed, taking into consideration how tired he still was. 

His brain was even merciful enough to not let him dream. It truly felt like getting rest, finally. Andrew had to poke him when his shift was over. Andrew’s face looked softer than Neil had ever seen, so it wasn’t surprising that Neil had sat there, staring dumbfounded until Andrew said in a low voice, “Ready to go?” 

Neil almost had a panicked moment as he sprung up to follow Andrew because he realised that he was almost on the brink of thinking about _something_. Andrew’s soft face was dangerous enough that Neil almost forgot to repress his thinking—then he remembered that Andrew had told him to let him work and, technically, Andrew wasn’t working anymore. Neil felt it wouldn’t be wrong to ramble again about Quidditch season, and Andrew let out a tiny sigh when Neil started again, rubbing at one of his eyebrows with vigour, but he didn’t force Neil to shut up. 

After he had extinguished his season’s opinions, Neil reminisced about their school time. He was possibly wasting some prime material for confessions, but he had to do it. As he spoke and Andrew kept his blank face immovable, Neil wished quietly to himself to be back at Hogwarts. Not only because talking so much about Quidditch made him realise that he missed it, but also because it had been a while since Neil had convinced his friends to play Quidditch with him. For a split of second, entertained the idea of trying to get Andrew on a broom to play with his friends and— 

Neil thought harder about Quidditch and found some more opinions about how dumb the Chudley Cannon’s manager was—nothing that hadn’t been said before, obviously, but. Desperate times, desperate measures. 

Arriving at Andrew’s flat was chaotic, in the sense that Neil couldn’t even remember it happening. One moment, he was scrambling to spew Quidditch facts, and on the other Andrew was power-walking straight to his bedroom and Neil kept himself close to him, until there was a closed door between them and Neil finally stopped talking, feeling his throat uncomfortably parched, conjuring a glass of water to quench it. 

Andrew stayed in the loo for a long time, but Neil didn’t begrudge him. If that was what he needed to recoup from letting Neil just harp on and on about Quidditch, successfully refraining himself from Stupefying Neil just for a moment of silence, it was fine. 

Neil also couldn’t say he remembered what they ate for dinner, although he vaguely remembered helping Andrew with preparing the food. The pleasant rhythm of chopping food items (which food items? Good question), paying careful attention to where he put the knife, was enough to occupy space on Neil’s brain and make him shut up, which in turn gave Andrew another well-deserved pause. 

Still, Neil refused to dwell on the fact that he must have done a terrible job, because it wasn’t like he could have. It was all edible, probably. 

When it came time to wash the dishes, Neil… also had no recollection of doing it. He had gone back to sprouting everything that came to his head by then, Andrew not answering him with anything, not even a mere grunt. 

By the time they went to bed, Neil’s voice had a raspy quality to it and Andrew’s forehead had permanent lines etched onto it. It had been a while since Neil had used this technique of verbalising something trivial to stop himself from overthinking something, and his throat was unhappy about it. Neil however was one step away from feeling grateful that he would be the first one to confess today, even though he had done zero thinking on what to say. 

Neil dragged Twa—the ginger cat into his arms when they were both done with their nightly routine. Both cats had fallen into the habit of sleeping on their pillows while Neil had been sick, going as far as to, sometimes, sleep on top of their heads. For someone who had been so against them, Andrew accepted the Tuxedo cat on his pillow with a lot of grace. 

Neil buried his face in the cat’s tummy, which only made her tell her displeasure loud and clear, but miraculously she didn’t wiggle out of Neil’s hold, not immediately. Smart kitty, she probably knew that Neil sorely needed the comfort. Neil was also grateful she didn’t wound him at all for it. 

“All that Quidditch talk better make me have some nice Quidditch dreams, or else,” Neil said into her tummy after a few seconds of being frozen in that position, which made her meow and finally try to get away. Neil, feeling merciful, let her go and she swapped her tail across his face as she sat on his pillow. 

When Neil looked up, Andrew had raised his head, staring at him. 

“ _That’s_ why you didn’t shut up about Quidditch today?” _To not have nightmares_ was clearly implied. 

Neil laid down on his pillow, looked at the ceiling and petted the cat. 

“I just like Quidditch.” Neil said, which… wasn’t a lie. It might have been a gross understatement of his entire life, but it wasn’t a lie. “I miss it very much, especially right now since I can’t even fly my broom. But talking about it so much made me remember that you were a nightmare on the field. You are the sole reason that the Hufflepuff team ended up being considered good for seven years straight.” Neil felt the itch and didn’t have time to do anything other than widen his eyes. “I miss playing against you. I wish we could do it again.” 

Neil stopped petting the cat. He wanted to dig a hole, dive in, then use magic to eat the fucking dirt. Then he would never have to face anything but, most importantly, subject his rambling mouth to anyone, ever again. He hadn’t lied, but it skirted the territory he had been avoiding. 

Thankfully, Andrew didn’t acknowledge what Neil had said at all. Frustratingly, that made Neil irrationally annoyed. 

“I remembered a time when you were singing with your friends around the Lake, after the Yule Ball,” Andrew said, and Neil immediately forgot about his annoyance as he almost lit up from interest and then tried to control himself. He was feeling pathetic, which honestly had taken a long time to happen—too long. “Your voice was not the loudest, but it was certainly the best one at carrying the tune. You can be good for other stuff besides flying, fighting and catching a dumb, magic flying ball. And you are passionate and driven enough that everything you set up to do would eventually work for you.” 

Neil wanted to make a joke, to tease Andrew, to do anything other than lie there, experiencing the painful thud of his heart as he turned towards Minyard, who was solely focused on him. Minyard had said he had a perfect memory and fuck him very much for it, because Neil would have to fend the thought of what else Minyard remembered about him, glimpses of moments that lived no more on Neil and that was the kind of bullshit that would lead to places Neil didn’t want to go. 

Not because he was afraid of what he might get, but because he was afraid of what he might want to get. Just knowing that Minyard saw potential in him for inconsequential things was already hard to suppress. 

“About missing playing against me…” Andrew started and Neil held his breath. “Come up with a price, and I’ll do it.” 

Andrew then laid down and turned his back on Neil. With a gulp, Neil got his wand and turned the lights off. Minyard said absolutely nothing as Neil got himself arranged and then stopped moving. 

Honesty, it was a miracle that Neil could find his way towards any semblance of sleep after all of that. 

Quidditch filled and fuelled his dreams just like he wanted—but it was only Andrew and him on the field, playing all the positions. 

* * *

Neil was a lot less annoying the next day, but that was only because Andrew cheated his system and gave him something productive to do. 

It was almost easy to pinpoint the moment Andrew had that idea. They had arrived at work to the realisation that there would be _another_ raid, Hit Wizards working with Aurors again, and neither of them were called to be in a team. 

It felt like a personal slight against Neil. They never had this many raids. Once per week??? It was not simply unusual, a misfortune. It could only be a personal vendetta from Fate against him. 

Andrew couldn’t care less, but Neil was… missing duelling. It was clear from how irrationally frustrated he felt. Neil was not dealing well without duelling someone, _anyone_. 

Just by how distressed he felt, there would be no amount of Quidditch thinking enough to distract him. Andrew had even accused him of sulking, and Neil hadn’t bothered to deny it. After a few minutes of silence, Andrew had given Neil a weary look. 

At least Neil didn’t have space to think about what the fuck he felt towards Andrew if he was thinking about all the duelling fun he could’ve been having right at that moment—and wouldn’t, because he was a married man. 

“It’s not because you’re a married man,” Andrew sighed, which was enough to cover Neil’s less than favourable mumbles towards Andrew, who only looked at Neil with disgust for a few moments before continuing. “They don’t want to risk us being accidentally separated and then suffer the effects of the Bond when they could’ve just kept us safe in here.” 

“Bah!” Neil said and even Andrew seemed surprised at his less than characteristic outburst. “Safe!” 

“Yes, we’re all aware how abhorrent you find that concept, Josten.” 

“I am a great duellist! I can keep myself safe!” 

“Unless there’s a Bond box nearby?” Andrew’s dry voice was infuriating. Everything about _Minyard_ was fucking infuriating. “Look. You obviously miss your work and dueling, but there’s nothing I can do for you, unless you want to deal with Wymack. Do you want to read about my case? You might be able to help determine which of these Ingredients might have killed the Potioneer.” 

Neil got up from his chair angrily, grabbed the case from Andrew’s hands with a jerky gesture, and read the files with a righteous amount of rage. By the time he reached the end, he had to huff in annoyance and go right back to the beginning to pay proper attention to it. Although potions were a sensitive subject, Neil had to begrudgingly admit that this one was… interesting. 

Once he finished his third reading, he turned to Andrew. “So, this was definitely a murder, huh?” 

“It’s what Kevin and I thought when we started investigating the case,” Andrew said without raising his eyes from the logbook he was analysing. “It was everything too _conveniently_ placed, and a rookie mistake by an experienced Potioneer. Kevin is undercover trying to find more information inside the Potion-making circles because every single Potioneer we consulted said the ingredients the Unspeakables found in the victim’s cauldrons were simply for a Sleeping potion—which are dangerous to brew, but… He died from asphyxiation. That’s one of the side effects of the potion, but it still feels wrong.” 

“It is. Can you give me the full list of ingredients?” Neil said pensively and stood up to get the papers from Andrew’s hands when he magically produced a copy for him. Andrew also slid one of the Potion's books on his table closer to Neil, who couldn’t help but snort at him. 

“Did you forget who my father was?” Neil asked and Andrew snapped his head up in realisation. “Or what I used to do for him?” 

“Neil…” Andrew started, making Neil snort again, but angry at himself this time. 

_He’s not worried about you_ , Neil told himself viciously. To Andrew, he just waved a hand in a blasé movement. Andrew frowned at him but didn’t say anything. 

Neil read the ingredients for a few moments, but after a while he had to admit he couldn’t concentrate with the heavy gaze on him. Giving up, Neil raised his head and fixed his haze on Andrew, a single eyebrow arched, but not enough to even budge Andrew’s attention. Neil had to sigh. “I’m fine. I promise.” 

Andrew squinted at him, but still said nothing. After a few seconds of silence, though, he stopped staring. 

With a shrug, Neil went back to reading the ingredients, actually concentrating this time. It had everything needed for a Sleep potion. The Unspeakables had helpfully labelled the percentage of each remnant they could extract from the cauldron. The lowest ones were, by deduction, definitely from when the Potioneer didn’t clean his cauldron properly and the ones with a higher content must have been what he was working on, but it was puzzling. Some, not all of them but enough, were suspiciously high. They were not usual ingredients, so they shouldn’t be there. 

Neil had to dig to find his knowledge of potions, buried under trauma and resentment. It would have to be a seemingly innocuous potion, with a rare ingredient that reacted badly alongside the Sleep potion. Neil frowned down at the list, thinking it over. After a moment of staring at the _frog skin_ written neatly on it, it finally clicked why his eyes kept going back to it. “Aha,” Neil said. 

“Aha?” Andrew repeated as Neil turned smugly towards him. 

“Was the cauldron still hot when you got to the scene?” 

“It was still on top of the fire. We are working with the theory that he took a sip from his own potion to test it and that was what killed him,” Andrew watched as Neil nodded because _of course_ it was and _of course_ the Potioneer had dropped dead. It was actually a clever move from whoever had dumped the other potion in there. 

Brilliant idea on paper, but on execution… It was too niche. Enough to give clues about the identity of the murder—or at least their profession. 

“What did you find?” Andrew asked when Neil kept looking at the list of ingredients. 

“It was a variation of a Sleep potion that uses frog skin, excellent to slow down the breathing pattern, deepen it. However, the frog skin percentage is… too high. It’s not a rookie mistake, every Potioneer knows they shouldn’t abuse frog skin,” Neil told him, rattling off how the potion was supposed to be brewed and all the other ingredients were with a low enough percentage that it meant someone had dumped the altered Calming potion on top of the Sleep potion. Probably when the Potioneer was distracted. They were supposed to complement each other, but with that much frog skin in it? “His lungs stopped working for at least fifteen minutes.” 

“And then he died,” Andrew finished, frowning. 

“Exactly. You’re really lucky, though, because the Ministry doesn’t give permission for a lot of Potioneers to handle Phyllobates terribilis’ skin. Get access to the list of who currently has a permit, see if any of them have a motive and _voilà_.” 

Neil smiled as Andrew motioned for him to stand so they could go tell Dobson. It had been a good puzzle to solve, an excellent distraction. Not even close to enough to make Neil think favourably towards potions at all, but a good distraction nonetheless. 

On top of it, Neil had to admit that he enjoyed how Andrew focused 100% on him as Neil rattled his expertise. Andrew had looked at him so intensely that Neil felt the urge to flex. It also felt good to know he had helped Andrew. 

Neil wouldn’t think too hard about those things, though. That wouldn’t be smart. 

The list of people who had permission to use Phyllobates terribilis’ skin was thoroughly examined after Dobson had approved their reasonings. Only two people on it had a direct connection to the victim—the person who taught him and one of his competitors. 

Andrew sent the information to Kevin who requested a team, but Andrew didn’t even think about offering to go out with Neil. It meant that they only heard the reports of the teams who carried out the Search Warrant onto both suspect’s labs. 

The victim’s professor’s lab was where they, surprisingly, found stolen items from the Potioneer’s shop. It was truly not a good look. 

Neil sighed. “Now you only have to find why they wanted to eliminate their student.” 

“I’ _ll_ have to do it, huh? Already tired of working on crimes, Josten?” Andrew commented without inflexion in his voice. Neil could only snort at him. 

“I’m a Hit Wizard, you know? No investigations for me.” 

“A lot more violence, though.” 

“That’s the dream duo, my friend,” Neil said carefully, watching the way Andrew reacted to those last two words which… were more than enough to make Neil want to think and talk about Quidditch, because Andrew hadn’t looked bothered by it. At all. 

As Neil watched Andrew interrogate the suspect, staying outside of the room but still within the range, Neil thought about it. So… maybe they were… friends. Friends could find each other charming, definitely. At least, Neil’s friends seemed to find him adorable all the time—especially Matt, who couldn’t stop flirting with his friends. Platonically. 

With a snap, Neil thought that could be it. Maybe he thought Andrew was charming because Matt’s habits had rubbed off on him, and Neil didn’t _mean_ anything feelings-wise by it. Maybe Neil could finally stop worrying so much. He felt himself unclench, unfurl. He wouldn’t have to think about his feelings after all. Neil felt even more accomplished. He could finally stop tormenting himself and Andrew. 

* * *

“You’re smart enough to be a decent Auror in an investigative team, but you still went first for the complete meathead Hit Wizard path,” Andrew said to Neil that night. “I can’t decide if you’re stupid for going with the most dangerous path, or predictable. Still, it’s sad to see you waste your brain capacity by being nothing but a bouncer.” 

Neil could see where Andrew was coming from (if he ignored the way his mouth wanted to fall open over the fact Andrew thought he was smart). Not because Neil had been incredible that day, because he hadn’t—he just had advanced knowledge in a field that help the case and he could think logically, which was something many of Andrew’s coworkers were not that good at, if the murmured comments Neil heard about “someone checking over the evidence” was anything to go by. So, while Neil could see where Andrew was coming from, he could also admit that his standards weren’t that high to begin with, even for someone who worked with Kevin Day. 

“Listen, thank you for recognising my intelligence? Truly. But at the end of the day, why would I want to go around investigating and arresting people? Trying to find out if someone is guilty or not, that seems incredibly tiring. Every single person we Hit Wizards go after are known, dark wizards. We don’t even have to feel bad for bashing them a little.” 

“As I said, the meathead path.” Andrew’s voice was dry. “I wonder how many brain cells you have already lost since you started working there…” 

“Oh, don’t worry, sometimes I do some puzzles to exercise my mind.” Neil’s voice was sugary sweet. Andrew just snorted as a response, and Neil did not find that endearing. Well, maybe a little. Friendship level of endearing.“By the way, sometimes I still think about that time you simply closed down the goalposts against Gryffindor. I have dreams where I relive that 450 against 0. It was _so_ satisfying, the most incredible thing I’d ever seen.” 

Andrew watched Neil for a few seconds with raised eyebrows. He looked… sceptical, for some reason? Maybe not sceptical, but incredulous. As though he expected Neil to understand _why_ he was looking at him like that, but Neil could only shrug, standing by what he said. It was all true, and he had no clue why Andrew looked like that. 

“Quidditch again.” Andrew sighed after some time. “How original.” 

“Why, you wanted me to compliment your intelligence as well?” Neil giggled and then immediately cringed at how it sounded. “Do I need to remind you that one rumour about you was that you found a way to cheat the Anti-Cheating spell? You always did well in tests, even though you either slept during classes or just did nothing on them.” 

“We weren’t even in the same classes.” Andrew raised his eyebrows again. 

“I kept tabs on you.” Neil smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. Andrew blinked at him for a few seconds and then looked at the ceiling, looking exasperated. “But also, of course, you are smart. Either by learning the stuff by yourself or by coming up with a way around the spell.” 

“I would never cheat in an exam,” Andrew said, so deadpanned that Neil could only roll his eyes. “You could compliment something other than my mind or the Quidditch skills that I’ve been gratefully losing with the passage of time.” 

“Fine, but what do you want me to compliment you on? Something like… your body?” Neil asked and then wanted to facepalm himself as he backtracked. Andrew kept looking at the ceiling with clear exasperation. “I could compliment your cooking skills?” 

“Just be more original next time, Josten,” Andrew said and turned on his side, ready to sleep even with the lights still on. 

Neil took forever to actually fall asleep, but at least they didn’t have to go to work the next day. Everything would be fine, probably. He just had to figure out how to stop shoving his foot into his mouth so often. 

With a grimace, he realised he would have to face whatever he was panicking about Andrew to go back to being a cognisant, functional member of the Wizarding Society. To truly stop it, Neil would have to figure out _exactly_ why it didn’t feel like the same flirting Matt did with him. 

_Ugh_ , Neil thought to himself. He would have to think about feelings. _How disgusting._

* * *

Saturday morning started with Neil waking up a little later than Andrew. They usually woke up at the same time, too attuned to the changes in the quiet of their slumber not to notice when the other moves. 

Neil wouldn’t have noticed that he woke up later if Andrew hadn’t been sat up in bed, staring at Neil as his eyes opened, which was… unusual, to say the least. Neil would have found it unsettling if it was anyone else, but Andrew didn’t cause unrest on Neil and hadn’t, for years. 

Plus, Andrew’s eyes looked… soft. Like his face in the office. With the top of his ears dusted with pink, just like his cheekbones, Andrew just looked… as flushed as he could get. 

Had Neil said something embarrassing in his sleep? 

“What are you staring for?” Neil asked groggily. 

Andrew kept staring in silence at Neil for a few moments longer, then sighed as if he didn’t think it would be worth it to give any explanation. 

“Nothing,” was all Andrew said. Neil frowned and opened his mouth, but had to quickly untwist his legs from his blanket because Andrew had sprung up from the bed and made for the door. Such hastiness made Neil trip over his own feet, but he successfully entered the kitchen after Andrew, causing no other kind of comical—or tragical—scene. 

Another thing that was a little unusual was the fact that they had only lived together for two weeks, but they didn’t have to talk about it as they took their French toasts in a neat little pile on a plate and sat down to watch a lot of cooking shows in the living room, mostly in silence. 

Neil had to admit that he had become obsessed with cooking shows—not surprising, given his ability to get attached to things quickly, but the subject itself was fascinating. It was incredible to Neil how many concepts for new shows Muggles could incorporate into something so basic as cooking. 

Neil also couldn’t believe Matt made him watch so many Muggle movies when cooking shows existed. Cooking was something universal. By Merlin’s beard, everybody had to eat! Cooking was often a part of eating, therefore people would logically come up with the most outrageous ways of accomplishing that task for entertainment purposes. Indubitably. With no hint of irony, Neil loved it. 

Neil didn’t think he had absorbed that much knowledge from the shows, until they were watching a survival style competition, and one cook moved to “peek at their savoury soufflé” and Neil felt his blood boiling. 

“YOU ABSOLUTE KNOBHEAD!” Neil screamed at the telly. “DON’T YOU DARE DO IT! YOU’RE GONNA COCK-IT U—Argh.” 

It was too late. Neil’s warning went unheard, since the people on the telly couldn’t hear him after all. The tosser that called himself a cook opened the oven, and the camera showed it closely as the soufflé deflated sadly in front of them. The expression on the man’s face as he watched his soufflé being ruined by his own stupidity was even more enraging to Neil. 

“How could you do that,” Neil bemoaned desolately. “You were on top of your game this time…” 

“Well, I can probably save this,” The Tosser was saying on the telly and Neil groaned harder. 

“You’re done, mate,” Neil said and covered his eyes. “I don’t want to see what he’s doing.” 

Andrew wordlessly changed channels, and even the cats were a little startled by Neil’s yodel of protest as he took his hands away from his eyes. 

“Put it back on!” Neil yelled, waving his hands violently without touching Andrew. 

“You said you didn’t want to see it anymore.” 

“I can still _listen_ , and I want to listen to this dense _imbecile_ being torn to shreds by the judges for his stupid mistake!” 

Andrew put it back on and Neil went back to shielding his eyes, but still carefully listening. He heard a loud huff from Andrew, but he shushed him aggressively and let himself feel glee when the tosser finally started being dismantled by the judges. 

They spent the entire day like that—watching telly. Neil screaming at it, Andrew petting both Froc—both cats as they kept jumping down and onto his lap. After a while, Neil grew tired of yelling the small number of mistakes he could identify and paid attention to the cats in Andrew’s lap from the corner of his eyes. 

It was as good a time as any to think about feelings, even though Nel dreaded it with a vengeance. The indulgence that Andrew exhibited towards Neil, the _softness_ that dismantled him. Neil had never had a crush, he hadn’t been raised to _feel_ infatuation like that—then he had just been used to not thinking about people like that, but his feelings towards Andrew were… complicated, to say the least. 

They didn’t feel new, however. Neil honestly didn’t think what he felt now was that much different from how he felt towards Andrew when they were teenagers. The difference was the time they spent around each other, and also whatever had happened when Neil was sick that… opened Andrew a little towards Neil. 

Neil saw Andrew turning his face minutely to look at him—not quickly like Neil was expecting him to, but a little lingering. Neil, sprawled on the sofa, had his eyes lower, their direction sort of hidden from Andrew. Neil could see him, but Andrew couldn't see him back. 

Neil wished he could know what Andrew thought about when he looked at him. There were some Bond boxes that allowed it, but Neil didn’t need to think about it even a little to dismiss that wish thoroughly. Not because he wasn’t curious, but Andrew would’ve been much more vicious at the beginning if they were in a situation like that, and Neil... didn’t really want that. At all. 

Yes, it would’ve been nice to know, but… if he really wanted to know, he could ask. Neil had a feeling Andrew would answer him honestly. 

As he gave up on it and let himself think that he might _finally_ have a crush on someone, even at twenty-nine years old, Neil knew he wouldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t know how _old_ these feelings were, and would definitely procrastinate on discovering them out, because right then, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if he had any chance with Andrew—because he didn’t know what that would entail. It didn't matter if the feelings were new or not, because Neil had minutes of accepting it and he had no idea how much of it was just from how isolated they were from the world at large. What mattered was that just by naming it, Neil felt peace. 

Besides, just the thought of asking what Andrew felt about the fact that two weeks had already passed and the Bond would probably wear itself out in a few days felt like too much for such a new revelation. Would Andrew miss the Bond? 

No, he probably wouldn’t. Andrew was a private person. The premises of the Bond were already a lot more than Andrew liked to compromise on, and he would probably be glad it was over. Neil had thought he would've been grateful too, but now… he wasn’t so sure. Neil had felt drawn towards Andrew since forever, but he could have never predicted any of this. 

Would Andrew miss the cats? For someone who had vehemently protested against their presence, Andrew didn’t seem to mind how they walked all over him, leaving tufts of fur over everything. Neil didn’t know for sure and he couldn’t bring himself to bother Andrew about something so trivial, but he thought Andrew might miss the cats a little. 

A voice in the back of Neil’s mind wanted him to think it over—would he himself would miss living with someone again, after years of living in his empty flat that he had bought at 17 and never bothered to furnish? 

Neil didn’t even think of his flat as his home. Andrew’s place definitely felt… homey. Home-like. Lived in. Would Neil miss this? 

He didn’t want to think about it because he already knew the answer, so he forced the voice into silence. 

Andrew stood up after Neil’s stomach complained loudly, their breakfast but a long-forgotten dream, and Neil watched sheepishly as Andrew put the cat that had been on his lap onto the sofa. 

“Come put your skills to work in the kitchen,” Andrew said monotonously, which forced Neil to repress even more thoughts as Andrew taught him how to make fancy omelettes. Neil already had an honesty session with himself. He didn’t need to schedule another one so soon, just because there was an insignificant creature inside of him who wanted to preen about his so-called skills. 

* * *

“The cats love you,” Neil told Andrew in the safety of Andrew’s dark room. They hadn't been able to do this when the lights were still on anymore. “They’re never like this with anyone else, but they love you. Did you do something to them? Did you bribe my cats into loving you?” 

“Is that what you want to confess to me today?” Andrew sounded a little incredulous. “That you think I’m bribing your cats?” 

“No. What I wanted to say is that even though you were… against them coming with me in the beginning, I’m glad that you could… accept them? Or rather, that you didn’t go through with your threats, I guess.” 

Neil hadn’t believed Andrew would’ve done something to his pets, but Neil also couldn't say he could have predicted how Andrew would be with the cats. 

Naming them. Letting them sleep and fight over his lap. Letting them sleep on their bed, on their pillows. 

Neil scratched his neck when he felt the weight of Andrew’s attention on him, but he bravely trudged onwards. “Also, I wanted to confess that I thought this whole predicament would be much worse just by how you acted initially towards the cats, but it has been fine. More than fine. You’re excellent company, an amazing listener and, when you have points to make, you're a brilliant conversationalist. I’m glad our first pissy contest didn’t turn these two weeks into a living nightmare.” 

Neil couldn’t stop the grimace. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d reminded them that their time together was almost at the brink of their official countdown. Fourteen to forty-five days, the Unspeakables had said. Anxiety zapped quickly through his limbs, but Neil pushed it down, away. 

“I think you mean our first, second and third pissy contest,” Andrew said. Neil frowned at him and then Andrew raised a hand, ready to count. “St. Mungo’s room, your home and then my office.” 

“I…” Neil grimaced, again. “I had forgotten about the St. Mungo’s situation.” 

Andrew hummed, and they lulled into silence. Neil closed his eyes and listened to Andrew's breathing, waiting. 

“The fact that you didn't sit here huffing and puffing about being forced to live with a Muggleborn is exactly the kind of behavior I didn’t expect from a pureblood, but I should’ve known better. I _know_ you better; You have never been a normal anything.” 

Neil gulped, forcing his eyes closed even harder. He thought about St. Mungo—then his apartment, then their first days together—and tried to find the places where Andrew’s suspicions could fit. It wasn’t a question of suspicion though, more… expectation. And Neil was always glad to subvert those. 

“I also watched your telly with you, to be properly educated on the art of cooking,” Neil pointed out, smirking a little. “And I asked about the jokes and references I didn’t understand.” 

“True,” Andrew’s voice sounded softer than anything Neil had ever heard him say as he went, “These two weeks could’ve been a lot worse.” 

Neil could almost smile under the pressure of everything Andrew wasn’t saying—but then he would’ve been assuming more than Andrew had said, and Neil wasn’t that much of an idiot to put words in Andrew Minyard’s mouth, no matter which ones he longed to hear. 

He could smile at the rare feeling of mellowness, though, because he was indeed pathetic. Unfortunately for himself, being pathetic also meant he just... couldn’t lie to himself anymore: Andrew was someone he wanted to have as a friend, regardless of any other feeling he had. Neil appreciated his presence in his life, and he wanted it for longer—after. 

Neil didn’t know if they were on their way to being friends, he never knew how to identify the change from acquaintance to friendship in his past, but he longed for it. 

There was one thing Neil knew for sure: the anxiety he had felt just by _acknowledging_ the closeness to the end of their Bond would be a constant in his future.When the countdown would truly started, Neil would have to watch himself closely to not be a _complete_ mess out in the open. 

A future with no more nightly routine, no more someone existing quietly in his space. Someone who never looked at Neil with pity or lack of understanding of what trauma did to a person. 

It hadn’t even got to its end, but Neil was already mourning a little. He had adjusted to this new normal quickly, and to lose the stability of a nice routine… It would be tough. But they would still be in each other’s lives… Right? Andrew had offered to play Quidditch with him. For a price, but still… that meant he wanted Neil in his life, correct? 

Uncertainty made Neil balk, just a little. Fuck. Would Andrew want to go back to acting like they knew nothing about each other, other than people thought they were two sides of the same Galleon? 

Neil’s smile died. He had been under the assumption that since they were not having a terrible time, they would still try to be in each other’s lives, but… Andrew hadn’t said anything to confirm that, only implied it in a loose sense. 

Neil felt the unexpected uneasiness of their unknown future trying to sour him, but a deep breath was enough to keep it at bay—maybe for only for now, but that was enough. He refused to take anything back—about what he thought, felt, or said. Neil had meant all of it. If he had more confidence that it wouldn’t be a burden on Andrew, he would ask for clarification. 

Was it lack of confidence or bravery that Neil didn’t want to put himself out there to Andrew? Hard to say, especially since Neil knew what Andrew was like under unwanted pressure. 

It was enough to remind Andrew that they could’ve made this much worse for each other, but didn’t. Neil would gladly wait for Andrew’s next cue on what they would be. 

* * *

Sunday to Neil was marked by the fact that everything they did felt dragged. It also had a heavy overlay of _want_ —how much Neil wanted to ask Andrew things, about their future, about what Andrew himself wanted, but holding himself back. 

Consequently, Neil's introspection left their day void of much talk. The telly, the cats, the city—everything provided noise but them. 

If Andrew thought Neil’s silence was strange, he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t even seem to think or acknowledge what they had told each other the night before. Andrew seemed as unaffected as he usually was about things. It was enough to make Neil begin to doubt if they would keep in touch with each other in the future. 

Unfairly, obviously, because Neil was shit at Legilimency—another thing that set him apart from his father. Andrew wasn’t doing anything other than look like he was enjoying his cup of sugar with a splash of coffee.Neil shouldn’t be taking Andrew's blasé attitude as a sure sign that their parting wouldn’t affect him. 

Neil knew intimately that people didn’t stay forever in your life, sometimes. Instead of fighting to force them to stay, it was often better to let them go, hoping that your paths might cross. Neil had done that with Kevin. Had done that with his uncle, with whom he barely kept in touch. His mother as well, in a sense. 

He might have to do that with Andrew. 

If Andrew didn’t want to keep him in his life, that was fine. Neil would deal with it, eventually. Hopefully. 

The rest of the Sunday followed the same script as their Saturday, with fewer screams from Neil towards the telly. However, it had Neil feeling time ticking through his veins like a second heartbeat. His last confession had a sprinkle of goodbye, but… they were approaching their official countdown. Fourteen to forty-five days, the Unspeakables had said. Tomorrow Monday would be their fourteenth day. It could be their official goodbye. 

That would probably mean new habits. Maybe they would wake up and immediately test if they could walk away from the other seeing nothing. Really start to push the boundaries of the Bond. It felt… urgent, to tell Andrew something more honest. Not to bare himself, but… how would Andrew know? If Neil didn’t say anything, how would he know? 

That was what prompted Neil to start speaking without even turning off the lights that night. With their nightly routine out of the way, Neil turned to stare at Andrew before saying, “I haven’t felt burdened by the fact that I was not alone at all in these two weeks.” 

Andrew seemed to almost freeze, his eyes looking to Neil's right—Neil's hand had spasmed on the light switch. Neil took a deep, calming breath before pushing the words out. “I also never noticed how lonely I felt when I didn’t have anyone to live with. Even worse, that I’ve never had a break that didn’t make me have to fight the urge to run or go find some trouble. I know that your company was what helped me, so... thank you. Thank you for having patience with me and meeting me in the middle instead of keeping yourself in your corner. And… and I’m sorry that I technically bound us in the first place, but not sorry about… this.” 

Andrew blinked at him, as if he hadn’t been expecting anything like that. Neil could only imagine how many people didn’t appreciate Andrew’s presence in their lives, or even thanked him for it. 

It wasn’t like Neil didn’t understand why Andrew had such a small group of his people. Neil himself had a small group of friends, but by Merlin’s beard, Neil knew what it was like to have attachment issues from a turbulent childhood. Andrew just wanted to have his boundaries respected and people could barely do that. Neil had seen that all throughout their school years. 

Yes, Neil had revealed more than one confession, but he would be damned if he acknowledged nothing to Andrew that held weight. 

Neil wanted to plot revenge, or find ways to make the people currently in Andrew's life to appreciate him, but—Andrew was speaking. Neil focused on him. 

“I’ve never spent so long in the same room with someone without wanting to kill them all the time.” Neil took a deep breath to remind Andrew that they did duel that one time, and that Andrew had admitted he wanted to use an Unforgivable on Neil, but his voice got stuck in his throat as Andrew gave him a mildly exasperated look, and kept talking. “I didn’t think any part of sleeping in the same bad as you would be positive, but... your presence is non-threatening,” Andrew cleared his throat once, twice, then rolled his eyes and let the Bond make him say, “Comforting.” 

Andrew immediately laid down in bed, his back to Neil. Which meant that his back was also to the door of the bedroom, instead of turned towards the wall to be as protected as possible. The only thing protecting Andrew from the door would be Neil, lying between them. 

Neil turned off the light with trembling fingers, that he immediately took to his own lips to confirm that yep, that was a smile. Neil rolled his eyes at himself because he was too fucking sappy for someone who just shown proof of being _trusted, for fuck’s sake_. Still, he could feel his lips fighting against his cheek, being squashed by the pillow as he laid on his side, looking at Andrew's back. 

Falling asleep was the easiest thing he had done all day. His inside felt warm, even though there was a tiny ball of dreadful anxiety over the uncertainty of their future, still. Whenever the tiny ball wanted to overwhelm Neil though, it melted. It couldn't hold its integrity against the smouldering feeling of Neil being told he was trusted. 

* * *

After they woke up the next day—much earlier than they needed to be able to get to work on time—they shared a charged, speculative look. They didn’t need to talk about it, wordlessly stepping away from each other, testing if the Bond was still in place. 

Neil’s stomach had boulders of anticipation and dread lining its bottom. As soon as they were outside of their five metres, they held their breath, and… nothing happened. Neil could already feel something that wasn’t that much different from _mourning_ flood him, because this was it. The end. 

Then Neil’s father’s voice boomed, “ _Nathaniel!_ ” in his most irate tone. It was instinctive to flinch and admonish himself for it. Then Neil fucking remembered it and jumped onto the bed hastily, almost falling flat on his face to bring them back within their safe distance. 

Neil did his best to sit up and find some dignity, but it was definitely not down on his lap. He couldn’t move his gaze away though, not even to check if Andrew was fine. Neil was busy taming his heart, convincing it to remain inside of his body. He didn’t have to look at Andrew to know he was concentrating on his breathing as well—Andrew had just let out a single, loud gasp. It instantly brought Neil’s attention back to the present, instead of the adrenaline coursing through his body. 

“That didn’t go as the expected,” Neil commented as he finally raised his head. He sounded breathless, as if he had just ran after a criminal—or maybe away from one. Andrew looked… paler than normal as he deliberately breathed slowly, counting the seconds between his inhales and exhales. Neil threw himself backwards on the bed, giving Andrew a semblance of privacy. “Do you think the predicted time will only be complete during the afternoon? As in, the time we were Bonded?” 

Andrew said nothing. When Neil turned his head to him, Andrew only shrugged, still counting his breath. They took their time getting ready to work, eating their breakfast slower than a Hogwarts’ broom was able to fly, and they still got to the DMLE early. Through Andrew’s closed office door, they could listen to the sound of people arriving. It felt like it should be a normal day, but Neil almost couldn’t stand the oppressive cloud of anticipation on top of their heads, pressing down on Neil’s back. 

That’s why Neil almost jumped out of his skin when Andrew’s door suffered from heavy knocks. 

Andrew and Neil shared a confused haze, but eventually Andrew said, “Come in”. It was just in his normal volume though, so Neil rolled his eyes and repeated it louder. An Auror came in scowling, and mumbled something low, then… just… closed the door? 

Neil frowned at it. By the look on Andrew’s face, it was clear he didn’t understand it either. 

It didn’t happen just once. It took them a while to figure it out, but when Renee came to congratulate them, she explained that Dobson had encouraged the Aurors to come to Andrew’s office and congratulate both Neil and Andrew for closing a case so quickly. Neil imagined Dobson had done it with good intentions, but it was bothersome to be interrupted. The only good thing was that they couldn’t think about their failed test—or their future demise—if they were busy getting annoyed. 

It didn’t help—not for Neil, at least—that not all Aurors were happy about doing it and didn’t even bother to hide their displeasure. Their begrudged mumblings were aggravating to Neil’s patience, who kept getting closer and closer to hex the next fucking tosser who opened the door. 

Neil would’ve preferred if they had done just like many Aurors and ignored Dobson’s suggestion. Neil himself didn’t understand why Dobson had done that until he heard someone saying that they weren’t special just because they solved a crime in a little over two weeks. 

“It hasn’t happened in the last fifteen years, though,” Renee said loudly and Neil got it, but still wished it wasn’t happening. 

Neil almost teared up when _Matt_ came to knock on Andrew’s door, though. After Matt had arrived, both Dan and Allison appeared as well, overwhelming Neil to a new level. Dan had the kids to watch (who were at daycare) and her Quidditch team ro train, while Allison had her Wizard fashion magazine to run. Neither of them could stay for long, and they clearly wanted to ask things by the way they kept looking unsubtly at Andrew while he wrote his report on the Potioneer’s case, but they kept quiet and left not that long after. Just the fact they had come at all was enough, though. Neil missed them. A lot. 

Andrew watched Neil hug them for a fraction of a second, then he turned to his work and kept reading with a stoic face on. Neil noticed that he hadn’t listened to what Dan was saying, so he paid attention to them. 

Seeing his friends going away was painful, but not as painful as Neil had thought it would be. After all, Neil knew he would have them back in his life soon enough. 

Even Wymack came to congratulate them, eyes scanning both of their postures and not finding anything incriminating, although he did raise one eyebrow at Andrew before going away. A few other Hit Wizards came, too—the ones that didn’t absolutely hate Neil. It was overwhelming, just a little, but Neil made sure to redirect every congratulatory remark towards its rightful owner. 

“Andrew would’ve found the answer, eventually,” Neil said every single time. “I just gave him a little help with my expertise.” 

It got a little more weird when the _cakes_ arrived—Andrew unceremoniously making space for them on his desk, Summoning a fork to eat. Even weirder when some Aurors asked Neil about their own cases that involved potions, or their ingredients. There was even a talk of reviving some old cases just so Neil could take a look at it while he was still around. Neil heard someone grumble that the “Son of the Butcher should at least be good at what his father taught him,” but whoever had said that was quickly hit with a Stinging Hex, if the yelp was anything to get by. 

They didn’t do much working, but at least there wasn’t that much crime happening, if the few notifications they kept receiving were anything to go by. _Slow Monday_ , Neil thought. 

The congratulation party only lasted until a little before lunch. Andrew wasn’t hungry, of course, so Neil sighed and didn’t protest when Andrew pushed a cake towards him. 

While Neil ate the cake—that wasn’t as cloyingly sweet as he thought it would be—he thought of how Matt had spent a while informing Neil of what a lame raid they had gone on Friday. 

“You got the better end of the wand,” Matt had told him with a sigh. “The glory of solving a murder case, all on your own.” 

“Not all on my own,” Neil had corrected him. “It’s Andrew’s case.” 

“It’s also Kevin’s case,” Andrew had added, without raising his head. Neil had given him an exasperated look. 

“The day that I _willingly_ acknowledge Kevin’s achievements…” 

“You used to go on and on about his Quidditch skills…” 

“I was young, and stupid, and Kevin hadn’t been my Captain yet,” Neil smirked at Andrew’s tiny eye-roll. Their banter was almost enough to make Neil forget that they were going to be separated by the end of the afternoon, probably. Almost enough. 

The wild look Matt had given when he turned back to him was enough to inform Neil that whatever he was feeling was not subtle. 

Oh well. 

* * *

The Bond seemed determined to make them look like fools. 

Not that Neil was complaining, not exactly. It was allowing him to be around Andrew for longer. It was still frustrating how it didn’t come with a written term of services. Clarity would’ve been highly appreciated. 

Neil was panting while sprawled on Andrew’s sofa, repeating to himself mentally that he was not bleeding out of a thousand cuts. Lola was not there in Andrew’s flat. Neil was alive, physically unharmed and _fine._

Andrew’s visions didn’t leave him with much more dignity than Neil. Whatever Andrew saw was something bad enough to make him cling to his couch, at the same time that he kept a firm hand on Frock’s fur. 

The cat’s fur. 

Whatever. 

“Is it just me, or are the visions worse than they were on the first day?” 

“Worse,” Andrew agreed, then shook his head. “Let’s not test it again until tomorrow morning?” 

Neil shrugged in agreement, but was silently elated that they would get another night together. They didn’t talk much on what could be their last day, but that was okay. Neil was just happy to exist alongside Andrew as they ate, cleaned their mess and procrastinated going to bed. The weight of time wasn’t even that heavy anymore, shaken as they both were by their visions. Neil was almost suggesting they didn’t try it at all the next morning, but he wouldn’t do that to them. To Andrew, who said he wanted to do it tomorrow. Neil would do it, even though he didn’t want to. 

Eventually, they had to get their shit together and stop stalling going to bed. Neil felt like he should slow down, appreciate how they did everything seamlessly, but that was overly sentimental. Besides, he already had every single aspect of their routine burned into his by now. 

When it was finally time to say their truths, Andrew went first. 

“Apologies are inaction,” was how Andrew began it, which made Neil frown. It was… a different start.“If you are really sorry, you need to tackle the issue, stop the behavior to try to remedy the situation you caused, or just get the fuck over it.” 

“Are you… what are you talking about?” Neil asked. 

“Yesterday. When you said sorry for the Bond. There’s no need for you to apologize for something that was an accident and wasn’t that terrible in the end. I mean, you gave me plenty of excuses to not work sometimes, and kept giving me the credits for a case you solved.” 

“ _We_ solved,” Neil corrected, and Andrew just rolled his eyes. It didn’t seem like Andrew had anything to add, and when Neil thought about that “it wasn’t that terrible”...? Yeah. It was definitely enough for him. 

With a deep breath, Neil thought about many things he could say. In the end, he settled for the one that lived in his brain for the entire day. 

“You deserve days like today, but a lot more often,” Neil whispered, and a muscle jumped in Andrew’s jaw as he looked away. Neil wasn’t done, though. “A day where you’re appreciated for your efforts and the good things you do. I’m happy I got to help you do something that culminated in that, so I reiterate: we solved that case.” 

Andrew petted Fro—fuck it, _Frock_ with a soft look on his face. 

So Neil had to smile his best shit-eating grin. “Aren’t we _such_ a power couple?” 

“Shut up and go to sleep, Josten.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“I swear to God…” 

Neil only smiled at the threat that never came and he knew would never actually come. 

* * *

Neil woke up the next day to see Andrew calmly sitting on top of his dresser while he blew cold air into his mug, looking outside through the sliver of the closed curtains. Neil thought it would’ve been creepy if Andrew had been _looking_ at him, especially since Andrew was so much taller than usual, but it just looked comical. Another weird but on-brand move from Andrew for waking up earlier than Neil and having to wait for him to get out of the bedroom. 

Or that was what Neil thought until he remembered what today was supposed to represent. What they had agreed on doing. 

It was also the same time that his brain finally registered that Andrew had a _coffee mug_ in his hand. It let out steam that partially masked the glint of Andrew’s eyes, making them look dull. Unlively. 

Neil wanted to find another answer, something to force his heart down from where it was lodged at his throat, but it was impossible. There was no way around it, no other explanation than the cold, hard truth: Andrew did things primarily in the Muggle way, so there was zero chance he had made that coffee with magic. 

Neil took a deep breath, letting himself look at Andrew with whatever his expression wanted to show. He just couldn’t care about it yet, half filled with grief and a vague sense of denial. “So, it’s off then?” 

Andrew sipped his coffee and didn’t reply. It wasn’t like Neil needed a reply with the evidence right there. It also wasn’t like Andrew was in the business of wasting his words unnecessarily, but still… Neil gulped—on nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing. After a few seconds, Neil sighed. “If you give me ten minutes, I’ll pack and get out of your space.” 

“No time,” Andrew said, jumping down from the dresser and making the coffee slosh loudly in his mug. “We have ten minutes to get to the Ministry and you’re not dressed yet.” 

Andrew had never cared about the time they got to work. Andrew knew Neil could dress in two minutes, at maximum. 

“So…” Neil hesitated, then turned his back as he went after his clothes. “I’ll pack after work?” 

“Fine,” Andrew said and left for the kitchen. 

Neil did his best to suppress the minor panic he felt in the back of his mind as Andrew got out of their five metres. Contrary to Neil’s semi-conscious fears and yearnings, nothing happened. Neil was paralysed for a few seconds, trying to adjust to reality once again. It had only been two weeks. It couldn’t possibly be this hard to rewire his brain, right? 

Neil went for his Hit Wizard uniform, all wrinkly from being pushed to the bottom of his luggage. One spell sorted his robes out. Before leaving Andrew’s bedroom, Neil stopped, _needed_ to stop to look inside the bedroom. It felt like something was missing—and it was. It was currently in the kitchen, making a lot of noise. Neil gave one final sweeping look, completely unused to not seeing someone there, near him, then shook himself and walked to the kitchen. He left the bedroom door open for the cats. 

Neil tried really hard to make himself believe that not only was everything fine as he drank his own coffee and ate the scrambled eggs with toast that Andrew made for him at record speed, but also that everything would be fine. 

* * *

Everything was _not_ fine. 

First, when they arrived at the Ministry, Neil had automatically walked after Andrew through the atrium, until Andrew stopped him after a few steps, physically turning Neil towards the right direction. 

Neil grimaced internally, but didn’t thank Andrew. They were two pillars in the middle of the atrium, locked in a gaze. They couldn’t stay there forever, though. People were already getting annoyed at them, glaring. Neil didn’t care about it at all, he still had one last thing to ask. 

“Are we going to have lunch together?” 

“They’re probably going to put me on the streets with Kevin. He’s scheduled to come back today.” Andrew swayed his gaze away. Neil felt untethered without it, both of them just… standing there. 

“Oh,” Neil nodded for what felt like forever. Andrew finally looked at him, an eyebrow arched as if asking whether Neil was done. “So, I’ll see you outside at the usual end of shift time?” 

“Just go straight to my apartment. You know the way,” Andrew said and didn’t wait for a reply before walking away. Neil watched him, getting smaller and smaller, until he felt ridiculous for just… standing there. 

Getting back to the Hit Wizard department felt as if Neil had shown up to work using his Hogwarts’ uniform: inappropriate and ill-fitting. _Awkward_ —until he crossed eyes with Matt and was immediately hit by a spell, a piece of cloth that snaked down his face and tied itself around his head, covering Neil’s eyes. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Matthew Boyd,” Neil said hotly but with annoyance instead of anger. “I just got back.” 

“You sound hot when you speak Posh indignantly,” Matt told him, voice getting closer. Neil just spiritually rolled his eyes and knew that Matt would get the message through his silence—or, as Matt liked to call it, their emotional bond. 

It had been much funnier before Neil had truly Bonded with someone. 

Neil could hear the sound of feet shuffling and also a bit of angry muttering. It led to people being shushed—or pinched, punched, maybe jinxed, if the series of yelp was anything to go by—whatever coworker had complained about welcoming Neil back, suffering the consequences of expressing their opinion. 

Neil sighed and projected his eye-rolling again, as loudly as he could. Matt probably got it, if his giggles were anything to go by. 

“Are you ready?” Matt asked, sounding excited. 

“Just take this shit off my face, Matthew.” 

“You used to be much more indulgent of my antics before marrying,” Matt sighed sadly. “Marriage life really changes your friends... For the worse, apparently.” 

The banter hurt. It reminded too much of how Neil interacted with Andrew. He could’ve never had predicted he would feel like this, but he didn’t want it. He _seriously_ didn’t want it. 

“ _Matthew_.” Neil almost barked, desperately trying to concentrate on something else. Anything else. “Speed up your emotional manipulation.” 

“How very much dare you imply that I would be capable of emotional manipulation,” Matt didn’t sound actually offended, but at least he took the blindfold off. Neil had to blink for a few seconds to make his eyes adjust to what he was seeing, but when he did, he wanted to groan. 

There was a banner floating above the Hit Wizards that said “Congrats on your divorce”. It also had a crude drawing of a red-haired blob taking off a ring from an unconventionally drawn hand and throwing it away. After a few seconds of the ring bouncing on the banner, it was finally out of frame and the blob smiled, large and creepy. 

The few coworkers who Neil had never offended—or had offended/fought but then had gained their acceptance—were there, holding different food items and if not smiling at Neil, then at least not glaring. There was the absence of any coworkers who actively hated Neil, probably all hiding in the kitchen or something of the sort. 

Nobody said anything. Neil waited, but they were just… there. Waiting. 

“Are you just going to st—” 

“Welcome back,” they said in unison—well. They chanted, flat and monotone. It sounded organised, trained, fucking premeditated. Neil shook his head at the ridiculousness while he imagined what Matt must have used to bribe/blackmail/buy their coworkers into compliance. Neil waited for a few moments, but when nothing else seemed scheduled to happen, he gave a yellow smile and said, “Thank you.” 

Matt came to hug Neil, while their coworkers immediately distracted themselves with food. Matt lifted Neil from the ground like a kid, as he always did after a while of hugging—“My back can take a lot less than your dignity, Neil,” Matt always said. 

Neil sighed as his torso was almost crushed. It felt nice in that “I’m almost dying from lack of air, but it feels comforting” sense. Neil felt warm all over, as Matt blabbered on his ear about the party they were going to organise in Matt’s flat when their schedules lined up, how Neil would have to tell _everything_ in _detail_. Neil only nodded mutely, trying to bask in the reassurance that Matt had always given him. 

It worked well enough to soothe Neil—except for a spot between his ribs. There was something lodged there that was icy, solid and immovable. Neil could breathe around it, although it tightened up his entire posture a tad. Matt noticed but didn’t comment as he guided Neil towards the food. Some people came to ask Neil about his time with Andrew—digging for betting information, most likely—but Neil only stared at them and let Matt deflect the subject. Thinking about Andrew was… difficult, but Neil would be fine, though. 

He _had_ to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> The Tempus spell is not canon, but i like it 🤷♂️  
>   
> And their Bond comes to an end. I have to confess that I did not plan to take so long to post this, but I had to take a lot more care of my eye than I thought I would’ve needed, then I fucking forgot about my midterms, like a stupid. Sigh… At least it’s done now!  
>   
> We’re on our final stretch. The next one is supposed to be the shortest one, but lmao I know me. I’ll try to keep the rambling to under 10k, though.  
>   
> Thank you for reading! Comments are much appreciated 🥺  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil finally move his shit out of Andrew’s flat. They are messy for a little bit. The wise cats have their wise words ignored, but worry not!! Kevin knows both of them and is Tired Of Their Bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> could i have edited this more thoroughly? maybe, but i wanted to post it quickly so :shrug:  
> The last one!!! Hope y’all like it!!!! I’m gonna shut up now, you cats probably just want to read it lol

Work was normal in all the ways that didn’t feel normal anymore. 

Neil looked in his mess of a desk because he couldn't remember if he left anything unfinished, mostly incredibly distracted because he kept looking at the table by his side and panicking when he saw someone Matt-sized instead of... well. 

At least Matt had left him alone in his weirdness and didn’t question the looks he kept receiving. Matt also brought Neil lunch after realising that he hadn’t noticed it was lunchtime. Matt made Neil get up to get him a file all the way down from the Old Archives, which made Neil realise his left leg had fallen asleep from not moving for so long. 

Matt was the bestest friend anyone could ever ask for. 

Neil had to admit though that nothing felt weirder than reaching the end of their shift and then going out of the building alone. Or even Apparating to Andrew’s corridor without wasting a single thought on it. 

Apparating still felt like being squeezed through a minuscule tube, as uncomfortable as ever. Neil was actually afraid for a few seconds that he had Splinched himself for the first time in his life, but he calmed down after assessing himself. 

Neil knocked on Andrew’s door, after standing there for a few seconds without realising that no, Andrew wasn’t at his side to unlock it. After what felt like an eternity, Andrew opened the door and barely looked at Neil as he went back to the kitchen, to whatever he’d been cooking. 

After closing the front door behind himself, Neil sighed and went to Andrew’s room. Again, Neil’s mother List of Necessities was in the forefront of his mind, but even though he was being efficient, Neil’s mind was swimming in all the essential things he wanted to take with him but that were not his or even physical. Neil forced himself to not think about the objects he wanted to take, but allowed himself to swim in memories. There were some moments that he never wanted to forget from those two weeks, which felt unnecessarily dramatic since _it had only been two weeks._

He was being ridiculous. After shaking himself, Neil finished with his bedroom things and went out to put the cats’ things in a pile in the corner of the living room. After that, he had to convince the cats themselves to go inside their craters, but they were not having it. At all. 

Twa—the orange cat ran into the kitchen, leaving Neil in a staring contest with his Tuxedo cat. 

The contest got put on hold when Andrew said from the doorway to his kitchen, arms holding onto a clearly content cat. 

“Dinner's ready.” 

Neil was a bit puzzled, and by that he meant he was in shock. 

“I thought…” he started to say and Andrew stopped looking at the cat in front of Neil and looked at him, waiting. Neil couldn't finish his sentence, though. “... Nevermind.” 

Andrew walked back into the kitchen, and Neil followed him. For their last meal together. And probably what felt like one of the last times their lives would cross outside work. 

Neil sighed. This entire day felt like an extended goodbye and he didn’t know how to feel about it, other than to ignore how the cold spot he had noticed earlier had grown colder. Heavier. 

They ate in silence. Neil kept thinking that maybe he should ask Andrew how his day had gone but he could already imagine the stare he would g— 

“How did it feel to be back?” Andrew asked, and Neil startled badly enough to drop his fork. 

“Weird,” he said, after some time. “I kept getting surprised by how big Matt is, even while sitting down.” 

Andrew nodded and then they were lulled into a silence that didn’t feel exactly awkward but definitely… charged. On Neil's end, he knew it was because of all the things he wanted to say, but didn't know if it would be appropriate. 

“How about yours?” Neil asked, wanting to die at how awkward he sounded. 

Andrew didn't seem to notice his awkwardness though and shrugged. “Kevin is still loud.” 

Neil nodded, but didn't find anything to say. They went back to eating in their charged silence. When they finished, they got up together to take the dishes to the sink, and it was automatic to do the cleaning spells while Andrew went after a rag to dry them. 

With the dishes done, they stared at each other for a few seconds in complete silence, until Andrew turned his face away and said, “Let’s go. I’ll carry the cats for you.” 

Neil thought, “That’s nice” but couldn’t force the words out of himself. So he just followed as Andrew successfully convinced the cats to get inside their carriers with a staring contest. Neil then got his and the cats’ stuff from the ground, making sure that Andrew had closed the carriers’ door properly. 

Still in silence, they both left the flat and made their way to Neil’s flat. Unlike the first time they had made the trip, this time their quietness wasn't filled with resentfulness. 

They arrived quicker than Neil would’ve liked. He had to fight against the door who made its complaints about being abandoned for a fortnight clear as a glass, but Neil eventually asserted his dominance over it. Andrew let the cats out of the carrier as soon as the door was closed again. 

Neil went to throw his luggage in his bed. When he came back out, Andrew was petting each cat with a hand, their purring extremely loud and making good use of the acoustics in Neil's flat. 

Neil watched in silence for a few seconds, then looked over his flat to see if anything was different. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, but Neil could deal with that. He could not deal with Andrew’s softness as he gave the cats his absolute attention. 

Neil still felt like he should at least make it clear how thankful he was. After a few seconds of not watching the scene and swallowing on nothing, Neil steeled himself. 

“Thank you for helping with them,” Neil said in a quiet voice. “Thank you for being a good host in these two weeks. I… I will…” Neil's throat was squeezing around his words, trapping them. “I will try to cook some of the things you've taught me.” 

“Don't burn your apartment down.” 

“Oh, don't worry, I'll install safety spells first.” 

Andrew nodded at him and kept petting the cats for another minute or so. Neil felt a little creepy towering over them, but just as he had decided to crouch, Andrew got up, despite the complaints he received in the form of meowing. “We’ll see each other at work,” Neil said to Andrew, slowly. 

“Yes,” Andrew said, dusting the fur off his clothes unsuccessfully. Andrew didn’t linger. They nodded at each other and then Neil was opening the door while keeping an eye on the cats so they wouldn’t follow, then. 

Andrew was gone. 

Andrew’s absence was as quiet as he mostly had been during the entire day. It felt like it wanted to compete against the weight of everything Neil hadn't told him, but. The things Neil had to say would end up diluted in that quietness, Neil was sure. Then, he would be left with nothing. 

Not that he had much to hold on right then, but… 

Neil stood near his front door for a few moments, half lost without being guided by the movements of someone else near him and also in the weird echoes his flat had from the lack of furniture. 

Without anything else to do (other than telling himself that he needed to go out and buy groceries because his pantry was devoid of anything) and nothing to entertain himself until he fell asleep, Neil went to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. 

He laid there for the longest time, door wide open, feeling the absence of the new normal he had crafted, with some important help. The cats eventually wandered in the bedroom, meowing loudly. Neil had fed them, so he didn’t understand what they wanted. Eventually, Neil got up to go after their toys, but the cats were completely uninterested. They just kept meowing and walking all over the flat. 

The hours went by and Neil eventually stopped registering the noise. The cats eventually stopped walking around and came to lie on top of Neil’s pillow, meowing every so often in a manner that was particularly gut-wrenching to Neil. 

It probably wasn’t because of the cats’ noise, but the noise didn’t bother him because Neil completely could not fall asleep. His bedroom was too quiet and his bed was too… vast. 

It was a good thing he didn’t feel pressed to come up with ways to try to tell them politely to stop making such a ruckus. Neil had no idea how gutted he would've felt if he had to force himself to find out how to shut up cats. Whatever he thought about just made him feel memories of his childhood circling around him. 

So Neil just closed his eyes and kept a soothing hand on his cats, while the noise washed over him. 

* * *

Neil would’ve been fine with the whole being alone again if his cats would stop fucking _crying out_ throughout the whole fucking night. 

And also the brief moment in the mornings between his sleepy unawareness of the world and after he took a sip of his terrible coffee because Neil didn’t know how to properly brew coffee—yet. 

They also meowed whenever Neil was even near them. As soon as Neil extended a hand to touch and try to soothe them through pets, however, they bolted away, only to meow again from a greater and safer distance. 

It was kind of pathetic of him, but Neil didn’t realise that he started using Andrew’s names for the cats until Frock almost ate a piece of chocolate that Matt gifted Neil and Neil just panic-yelled, “Frock!!!” 

His life was better when he had stubbornly refused to name the cats. He was 85% sure that was the reason they had suddenly developed personalities. 

Neil woke up on Wednesday early— _way_ too early. Both asshole cats had fallen asleep at the same time as Neil but they had woken him up at dawn, meowing non-stop. Frock’s meowing was much softer than Twat’s loud yodelling, but he was much more insistent. Neil had to cast a Muffliato just so he wouldn’t get any complaints from the old witch that was his left neighbour, but that meant he had to endure it until it was finally acceptable to get ready for work. 

Wymack raised his eyebrows when he arrived at the DMLE and saw that Neil was already there, lurking. Neil half-expected him to ask how he’d got in, but it was Wymack. He simply said, “Good morning,” and went to his office. 

Neil promised himself that, for once in his life, he would keep his head down and work on his job without antagonising anyone. It was pretty easy, especially after realising that it distracted him from his sleepiness beautifully. That first Wednesday back was hectic, but the lack of sleep didn’t really affect him because he had tasks to complete. 

Neither did it affect him on Thursday. Or on Friday. 

Well… not that much, at least. 

Matt tried to convince Neil to go to his flat on the weekend for a proper Welcome Back party with all of their friends—that were eager to hear the entire story, of course—but Neil claimed he was too tired. 

It felt like the confirmation he hadn’t known he was looking for when Matt didn’t even consider insisting on it. He only said, “Yeah, you’re right, you should rest,” and that had been it. 

Neil must have been looking incredibly rough if Matt hadn't even suggested that Neil could rest and sleep at Matt’s lumpy sofa during the weekend so they could have some time together. 

The weekend was… pitiful. Neil didn’t know who he pitied more: himself, or the cats who had to deal with him just… staring. At nothing. Because Neil suddenly didn’t know how to exist in his own sparse apartment, that didn’t even have a telly to distract him with pretty cooking. 

At least the cats were finally eating. They were probably much more rested than Neil was, because they surely must have slept during the day to have the energy to keep Neil awake the entire night even now, almost a week since they had come back to their homes. 

Neil was almost reaching the point where he could convince himself that he would get used to the meowing and fall asleep regardless of how much noise they made. Or at least he believed he was. This couldn't go on much longer, could it? 

Monday rolled back around sooner than expected. Neil felt it would be safer to isolate himself from his coworkers, just in case he snapped from lack of sleep because he could feel how close he was to his breaking point. Neil could admit, at least to himself, that he was behaving like a wanker without any reason and Matt, instead of getting angry, just looked worried. 

It was the cats’ fault. If Neil could sleep, he would be more… Well, not sociable. But definitely less of a prick. 

Neil fell asleep at his desk on that Monday, and Matt even shushed Wymack when he came into the office to give them… who knows what. It was too late, Neil had already woken up, but the fact that Wymack had said nothing about Neil sleeping or Matt’s rudeness was almost worrying. 

It wasn’t like Neil didn’t sleep anymore. He just slept badly. 

(Nevermind that Neil kept waking up in a flail of limbs in irregular intervals when he could nap from exhaustion because his bedroom was too quiet and every little sound made it seem like there was someone there in the bedroom with him. What he felt when he realised that there was no one but the cats was not disappointment, but something close to it.) 

(It was longing, but he refused to let himself think about that.) 

Even Matt couldn’t handle being around him for too long when Tuesday came around. They had received an arrest warrant, and nobody argued when Neil was in the frontline. Alone. As it sometimes happened. 

They were even quieter after the mission was over and Neil had been responsible for using the nastiest legal curses the law allowed to Hit Wizards—on all four dark wizards they were trying to capture, each of them getting their own little curse. 

Matt approached him with a worried look while the others were casting Incarcerous on the three unconscious dark wizards in complete silence. Someone went to check on the last one just to make sure he was also unconscious—because his limbs were still jolting from the curse Neil had thrown at him. 

Neil wanted to scoff at them. They acted like he had killed someone. Obviously he hadn’t, they were all trained to do what he just did alone, but he didn't go after them with his dark cloud of anger. Neil couldn’t really measure if he was overreacting so, just in case, he would try not to give himself opportunities to fucking lose his job. 

“Are you alright?” Matt asked. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Matt’s raised eyebrows made it clear that he didn't like the monotone Neil had used. “Why do you ask?” 

“You came back today with… a whole lot of spirit,” Matt said, and then frowned deeply. “Just tell me this: was living with Andrew that bad that now you’re acting like… this? I thought it was supposed to be a break, and you didn’t look stressed when I saw you on the DMLE, but now you seem bothered by… something.” 

“Break,” Neil scoffed. “The _Marriage Bond_ was fine.” 

“Was it fine like _your_ fine, or…” 

Neil sighed and rolled his head, trying to get rid of the tension on his neck. It did absolutely nothing. “No, it's… it really was fine. Andrew is not bad company and… It could’ve been so much worse. I kept thinking how terrible it would have been if I had been Bonded to Seth, for example.” 

“Was that all you thought about?” Matt worried at his bottom lip. “Neil…” 

“I promise I didn’t spend not even a minute thinking about Seth,” Neil said and shuddered. Any time spent thinking on Seth was wasted time. Yes, they were friends, but Seth was just the sort of person you submitted to experience live, and never let them occupy too much of your brain. “Seriously, though. Andrew was nice.” 

“Nice,” Matt parroted, but with incredulity instead of Neil’s… whatever emotion had embedded itself in his tone of voice. “Well, if he was nice, and the Marriage Bond was fine, then why are you being such a…” 

“Wanker?” Neil asked and Matt immediately opened his mouth to deny it but closed it again slowly. Neil grinned at him, the first grin he remembered in a long, tiring time, but Matt’s serious face didn’t change. Neil sighed. “I think the cats miss having Andrew around.” 

“The cats _liked_ Andrew?” 

“Yes, I know,” Neil said, shaking his head. “But they did. They were used to each of them having a head to sleep on top of, and now they fight all the time over mine.” 

“... That's how you know they miss him?” 

“Well, they've also been meowing loudly and non-stop every time I’m near.” 

“I would offer to sleep over some time, but with the fur… and Dan being allergic…” 

“Mate, don't worry,” Neil said, doing his best imitation of Matt as he patted the man in the arm. “They will forget about it soon, probably.” 

Matt’s twisted lips indicated that he doubted it very much, but he didn’t insist on it anymore. 

They had gone back to the DMLE quietly. Neil could go straight to his office, alone, while the others decided who would take the dark wizards to the holding cells and start their processes. 

At no point Neil believed he would be alone, though. He was waiting for Wymack to call him to have a talk about his behaviour while serving the warrant. At the end of the day, Neil had skirted really close to the line of abuse of his position, and he knew it. It wasn't a pretty show of his control, but Neil knew he could have used less force on them, even though it wasn't lethal or enough to get him in trouble at court. 

Taking into consideration the files and files of supremacist bullshit those dark wizards liked to go around defending though, Neil didn’t have a place in himself to feel too bad about how he’d fought today. 

It took maybe half an hour after they had come back for Neil's door to open with a sudden movement—not enough to make Neil jerk, because he'd been expecting it, but still with much more force than Wymack usually used. 

Neil just hoped Wymack wouldn’t drag it out. It was almost time for Neil’s shift to be over and honestly? He just wanted to go home and try to nap. 

However, when Neil raised his head resignedly he almost jumped out of his chair. Because it wasn’t Wymack. It was someone genetically close and ten times worse: Kevin Day was standing in front of Neil’s desk. 

Kevin didn’t say a single word to Neil as he walked in, closed the door and approached Neil’s desk. He loomed for a second, looking at Neil’s second chair and then frowning at the triplet towers of papers precariously balancing on it. 

If Matt had been there, he would’ve definitely said something to Kevin about the looming. But he wasn’t. 

As it was, Kevin didn’t have anywhere to sit, and he wouldn’t have been able to see Neil if he tried to sit down. Neil’s brain was also too tired to register the looming, so it was all fine. However, Neil’s brain wasn’t tired enough to not come up with a suggestion for why Kevin was there. 

Neil’s only thought was, _Andrew was dead_. He couldn’t fathom why else Kevin would even step into his office if not for that. Neil had to brace himself for the worst, and that was why he felt like someone had sent a Mountain Troll to beat him up when Kevin said, “What did you say to Andrew?” 

Neil blinked. “What?” 

“What did you say to him?” Kevin enunciated each syllable slowly. “He already had one of the worst sleeping schedules I had ever witnessed, but he said he hasn't slept over 6 hours total since _Wednesday_.” 

Neil blinked some more, feeling like the Troll was still esoterically beating him up. “I…” 

Kevin interrupted him. “Were you fucking rude to him? Did you insult his blood heritage? Tell me you didn’t—” 

“Kevin, what the actual _fuck_ , I didn’t say anything!” Neil stood up from his chair, angrily pushing it out of his way. “Well, nothing other than what the Bond wanted out of us, and we even discussed some of that stuff and everything!” 

“Well, you must have said something and not realised it was fucked up! He hasn’t slept in almost a week, Neil! He almost took an Unforgivable to the chest yesterday because he was distracted! I had noticed he was a little off last Friday, but I’d have come to yell at you sooner if I had known you were connected to it.” 

“What makes you certain that I said something to him?” 

“When I asked him what was wrong, he said ‘Neil said—’ and walked away with an angry expression on his face.” Kevin glared at him. “So, who are you lying to? Me or to yourself?” 

“I didn't fucking said anything bad to him!” Neil yodelled and then stopped. More hesitantly, he said, “Of the things I remember, none of them were hurtful.” 

Kevin took a deep, calming breath, that didn't work if his trembling, enraged voice was anything to go by. “What you're saying is that there's something you don't remember?” 

“Maybe,” Neil said but didn't explain, despite Kevin's clear irritation towards him. He was too busy forcing his brain to focus and try to think about it. What Neil had said while he was sick couldn't have been hurtful… could it? 

Neil was too tired to formulate complex thoughts, but he didn't believe Andrew would have let him get away particularly unscathed if he had disrespected him again, in his own house. Also, Andrew had treated him better after those days. 

However, Neil couldn't 100% guarantee something bad hadn't happened because he had no memory. 

Guess it was finally time to clear the air and solve the mystery. 

Kevin seemed to find something in Neil's face that satisfied him. “Fix it,” he ordered and Neil snarled silently at him. 

Without dignifying that with any response, Neil got up, ignored the way his vision went black for a moment, and walked resolutely to his door. 

Wymack had his fist raised to knock, seemingly surprised to have the door open before he could. Neil said to him, “Excuse me,” and walked around him. 

“Josten,” Wymack thundered but Kevin shushed him and said something too low for Neil to hear. 

It didn't matter, anyway. Neil was much more focused on getting to Andrew than whatever else he had to atone for. Wymack could, apparently, get on his waiting list of mistakes Neil needed to apologise for. 

* * *

Neil didn’t run. 

If pressed to talk about it, he’d say that he hurried from the Hit Wizard’s floor to Kevin’s office. 

Neil’s brain really was just crackling with nothingness while he walked. In his defence, this whole situation was something too important to do with his over-thinker brain. It would either be done with only his boldness or not at all. 

He didn’t recognise a single face that passed by him. It was almost like the static in his brain was also responsible for making everybody else invisible and only his path clear. 

The trip was supposed to be less than ten minutes, but it felt like more than that—and also less, all at the same time. Time itself was an illusion as Neil walked through people and stopped at the familiar door. Neil had never used a Time Turner, but it must have been like that what it felt like. 

Neil could still hear Kevin’s annoyed voice echoing in his brain as he knocked on the wood. He knew Andrew would either stay quiet or say it too low to hear, so after an appropriate amount of time, Neil opened the door. 

It was a testimony of how ridiculous Neil was just by the amount of surprise he felt to find that Andrew was even there. Inside his own fucking office. It probably came from disbelief at Kevin's words, and Neil's own conclusions but… it would be ridiculous to distrust Kevin trying to solve a situation that was making his career difficult. Kevin was a career-oriented wanker. He wouldn't gain anything from getting rid of the person who kept him together during Hogwarts. 

Looking at Andrew, Neil could see what Kevin meant. Andrew had never really looked _healthily rested_ —however, right at that moment, Andrew’s hair in particular looked… terrible. There was no way around it. 

Long gone were the shiny blond strands, so soft-looking and tempting to Neil’s unrestful fingers. Andrew’s hair had never looked more like straw, both in colour and texture. It also pointed straight up at every direction, too chaotic to be intentional. 

Andrew’s under-eye bags were also worryingly deep. The clear weight on his shoulders, the stains on his black robes that showed Andrew had wiped his fingers on them after eating something sugary. 

_Everything_ about Andrew looked so out of character that Neil could do nothing but stare for a few moments, which was enough to make Andrew lose his patience. 

“What do you want?” Andrew asked and, despite the asperity of Andrew’s words, Neil could detect no actual animosity in his voice. 

“Your hair looks like fucking shit,” Neil told Andrew and closed the door when he heard someone behind him choke on laughter. He waved his wand distractedly towards the door, knowing his Silencing Charm would hold okay for the next few minutes. Hopefully enough time for them to get to the bottom of this. 

Andrew had opened his mouth to retort something, one of his eyebrows arched sarcastically, but Neil steamrolled over him. “You look fucking tired. Kevin just told me you haven't been sleeping because I said something that made you angry.” 

“You didn't.” 

“Nothing at all?” Neil’s exasperation made him travel from the door towards Andrew’s desk without even noticing his steps. “I feel like I need to clarify that… I don't remember that I told you when I was sick.” 

Andrew's face went slack and then he did something that Neil hadn't seen since the Ministry forced him to take a certain potion: Andrew laughed. 

“Of course you don't remember,” Andrew said in between chuckles. “You're a pipedream after all.” 

As suddenly as he had laughed, Andrew's looked at Andrew with charged hatred. Neil's breath caught in his throat and he felt something devastating its path through him—then Andrew's face went back to its stoicism. 

Neil could almost hear his own heartbreak but he held strong. They hadn’t finished yet. 

“Andrew,” Neil said in a soft voice, frustrated that it broke at the last syllable of Andrew's name. “What did I tell you?” 

Andrew turned his gaze slightly away, smiling ironically. “We had a full-on conversation on the second day. You told me you never understood why you were obsessed with me. You said, ‘It feels different from my obsession with Quidditch. It kept me alive when I wanted to fucking disappear into nothingness, but antagonising you, having your attention on me made me feel alive.’” 

Neil gulped. Apparently, his feeling's epiphany hadn't been something new. Surely a part of his subconscious had held onto that conversation, to torment Neil later again. 

One look at Andrew's face told Neil that it hadn't been just that. “What else?” Neil whispered. 

Andrew almost smiled, but his lips seemed unable to lift even slightly. It only soured his expression further. “I asked, ‘What, do you have a crush on me?’” 

“And I said, Yes.” 

“Of course not. You said a lot more than that, because you don't know how to shut your fucking mouth.” 

Neil wanted to ask what else he had said, but he was being choked again. It felt like watching Andrew leave his apartment all over again, but Neil didn't believe what he had to say now would dissipate. It would fill this entire office, it would flood them. Hopefully, it would help him get rid of Andrew's rightful bitterness. Neil hadn't meant to do it, but he accidentally hurt him. 

Air came in and out of him, but Neil couldn't feel it. His head felt too light, but he only had this chance and he couldn't ruin it. 

Neil was a little angry at himself when his voice came out too soft when he said, “I still mean it.” 

It didn't matter that it wasn't loud. Andrew had heard him, and his expression had gone slack almost comically. 

“What do you mean, you mean it?” 

“I mean that even though I don't have any memory of that fucking confession and I want you to tell me later what exactly I told you, I do believe I have a crush on you, even though that feels juvenile to admit out loud.” Neil rolled his eyes and tried to smile, but it was shaky. Almost as if his rushing heartbeat made his entire body unable to feel steady at all. “I haven’t been honest with you, even before our two weeks ended. Not intentionally, but I didn't want to burden you with my feelings when you hadn't made it explicitly clear that you liked me back.” 

“I did,” Andrew interrupted him and Neil couldn't stop his eyes from widening while Andrew focused hard on his face. Neil felt petrificated, like Andrew could cast Petrificus Totalus with his eyes. 

“But it was while I was sick?” Andrew nodded and Neil wanted to go back in time and force himself to speak every single fucking time he had been an idiot and held back. 

“I thought you wanted to take it slow,” Andrew said in a low voice and Neil closed his eyes, face screwing up in frustration and happiness. 

“This is the kind of ridiculousness that could only happen to us.” Neil sighed and stalked forward, putting both of his hands on Andrew's desk and leaning forward. He was technically looming over Andrew, but he didn't seem to mind all that much. Neil stared deep into Andrew's eyes as he said, “The cats miss you. It’s offensive how you won them over, especially since you tolerate them more than anything else. I hate the fact that when I wake up, there’s no coffee already on my cup, no cloying sweet concoctions stinking up the air, no fucking asshole just existing, and still being able to drive me fucking insane with a simple look. 

“The truth is, I miss your company. I was content living only for my work and occasionally having a normal conversation with my friends, but I didn’t realise how much I craved someone to simply exist alongside me until the Bond forced us to. I’m not saying that I would Bond myself to you in that manner in the near future, but I do miss the good parts of it. 

“Also, fuck you for letting me sleep in your bed when I was sick, because I had to break out of the habit of hearing somebody else breathing when I wake up in the middle of the night again, and I panic for a few seconds because I hear nothing. I’m so fucking tired of hearing nothing.” 

Neil hadn’t realised that he had curved a bit, like a flower to a sun. There was still a bit of a distance between them, but Neil watched his face and concluded that Andrew didn't seem upset about it. 

“I don’t know what I want out of this,” he stated, voice barely audible but sincere because he really didn’t know. This was so far from anything he had ever expected to come out of the Bond that Neil just couldn’t fathom any of that actually came from him. “But I want it. I want to share more of what makes me a real fucking person, to someone who… gets me, unspokenly. I also want to be as honest as I want to be and get something equally honest back. These don’t need to be the last truths I’ve ever told you, not if you want more. Maybe while we split a bottle? At an expensive restaurant where you will be able to watch me eat like a fucking pig and horrify the staff?” 

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Andrew’s face finally moved with a wave of feeling, and Neil couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Andrew wasn’t closing him off. Andrew was opening up, voluntarily. 

“Yes, if you want it to be,” Neil said, unable to keep his voice strong, letting it come out in a hopeful whisper. “I’ve never dated anyone before. Purebloods mostly stick to arranged marriages and… No hard feelings if you don’t want anything like I—” 

“I want it,” Andrew interrupted him, making Neil grin. 

“Great,” Neil said, still grinning, knocking on the wood twice because he had to externalise something from the hurricane of emotions going inside him. “Can we fix our sleeping schedule first?” 

“My, my, that’s very forward of you, Mr. Josten.” 

Neil rolled his eyes, smirking. “You are the one being forward. I was talking about something like a sleepover.” 

Andrew sighed. “Fine, if that’s what you want.” 

“Only if it’s what you want too.” 

Andrew didn’t need to answer verbally. Neil could read the truth of what Andrew wanted in his eyes. It was enough to make Neil’s grin turn sappy oh so quickly. 

Then Neil froze, feeling his face turn into a horrified expression that immediately put Andrew on alert. 

“What’s the matter?” Andrew asked tensely. 

“We’ll have to thank _Kevin_ for intervening!” Neil groaned and hid his face on his hands. “He’ll be so fucking smug.” 

“Are you implying I’m not worth it?” 

Neil raised his head fast enough that his neck cracked. He grinned at Andrew. “Well… when you put it that way… You’re right. I can deal with Kevin for this.” 

“No need to thank him, though,” Andrew said and listed his head to the side, just a smidge, but it felt like being pinned by a predator. Neil couldn’t help but smile at that much attention. “Can you imagine how angry he’ll be if we completely ignore him and refuse to say anything when he asks?” 

“Oh,” Neil couldn’t help the way he was smiling. Andrew’s suggesting something nefarious to mess with Kevin was incredibly attractive to Neil. “You are correct, that’s the much superior answer. So… I’ll see you later at your flat?” 

Andrew shook his head. “Wait for me outside the Ministry. We’ll walk together.” 

Neil nodded and watched Andrew for a few minutes longer until Andrew’s expression grew impatient. Neil knew that Kevin would be suspicious if he wasted more time there, but he wanted one last thing before he left. 

“Since we haven't done anything in order since the beginning…” Neil swallowed absolutely nothing, since his mouth and throat were more than dry but he needed the pause. “Could you give me a kiss?"” 

Andrew stood up and leaned forward. With the desk between them, it shouldn't feel as overwhelming as it did, but it was mostly Andrew's eyes still pinning Neil and threatening to burn him down to ashes that were a bit too much for Neil's sleep deprived brain. 

Andrew leaned forward even more, until they were closer than anyone had been to Neil's face in a while outside of a fight. Neil didn't know where to look first, with so many details ready to be picked at Andrew's face. 

“Neil…” Andrew rasped out, voice almost nothing but a growl. 

“Yes?” 

“Kiss me.” 

The kiss was clumsy from inexperience (and because of the fucking desk) but it was everything that Neil needed to warm the frozen thing inside his chest, dislodging it. Andrew took control of the kiss quickly, with a firm grip on Neil's jaw. Neil's breath caught on the kiss and Neil knew he wouldn't have it back for a while. 

It couldn't last though. When they parted, Neil allowed himself a few moments to relearn how to breathe while he looked at the ceiling, mind stuck on the phantom sensation of Andrew's rough lips on his. It took him less time to find his breath than he thought it would, but it must have had something to do with how his body had finally let go of a lot of tension. 

They shared one last charged look before Neil left Andrew's office, making sure his face was sombre and a little upset. Neil ignored Kevin’s entire existence—and the existence of the other Aurors too, who didn't even bother to pretend they weren't staring. Neil walked towards the exit, pretending to be stiff, and the Aurors didn’t even wait for him to disappear before they started whispering. 

When Neil was away from the Aurors’ prying eyes and unintelligible murmurs, he couldn’t stop the way his smile took residence over his face. 

The cold spot inside him had melted, thoroughly. Neil finally felt light again. He didn’t know how dating Andrew would be, but Neil just knew it would definitely go as well as their marriage did: perfect after a bit of trial and error. 

He couldn't wait to know exactly what else he had told Andrew. He couldn't wait to make up for accidentally making Andrew believe he had changed his mind. Neil had apparently realised his feelings for Andrew two times already and fucked both of them up royally. 

Third time's the charm, though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s a wrap, my loves!
> 
> I’m sorry I didn’t write all the confessions that happened during sick time, but idk! I might come back and write a scene where completely-out-of-it Neil confesses to Andrew, says a lot of embarrassing stuff and Andrew is just there, looking at that walking disaster, thinking, “I really had a crush on this *idiot* for more than half my life, huh”.  
> smh ahhhhh, morosexuals…  
> (i’m not promising anything, though!!! I have a lot of stuff to write and i don’t bump things ahead of my plans!!!! I do promise that even if it’s just a bunch of bullet points, one day I WILL show my plans for what happened during those three days, okay?)  
> This grew much more than I could ever predict, but I’m glad I didn’t settle for the 7k I was originally going to write. Syd, my beautiful stepmother, I hope this was all you wanted <3 Thank you for being the sweetheart you are 🥺💕  
> For all of you who aren’t Syd but still enjoyed this, my most sincere THANK YOU. It has been a blast to post a chapter and wait for all the reactions. Definitely one of my favorite parts of being in fandom!  
>   
> Well........ guess I'll see some of you around! Have a nice day? Or night? lmao love y'all  
>   
> EDIT (30/01/2021) - [the missing scene has been posted! ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088255) If the link isn't working for you, both works have been added to a series, so it should be easy to find lmao Thank you to everyone who said they wanted to read the missing scene! <3  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> you legend, you finished it!
> 
> I intend to not take too long to come back here to post the rest, but just to tranquilize all of you: this fic is finished. Its 40k. I just need to fucking finish copy-editing/proofreading but I also am on my last semester, so that is kind of my first priority lmao.
> 
> Comments absolutely fuel me though!!!! Even if its just to tell me im a dumbass and wrote something wrong lmao
> 
> my tumblr is [polzkadotz](http://polzkadotz.tumblr.com) if you want to ask something, criticize anonymously or just chat! My twitter is [polzka_dotz](http://twitter.com/polzka_dotz) if that’s what you prefer. 


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